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SOUTHERN  BRANCH, 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA, 

LiaRARY, 

•V  OS  AN'RELES.  CALIF. 


THE  NEXT  RELIGION 
BY  ISRAEL  ZANGWILL 


THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   -    CHICAGO 
DALLAS    •    SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


THE    NEXT    RELIGION 
BY    ISRAEL    ZANGWILL 

A  PLAY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


')  '.'  ' 


NEW  YORK:     THE  MACMILLAN 
COMPANY      1912 

60040 


<          c    c       t  ,  c  c 

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<  c  t     <    «  ,*   '  *  ■ 
t         etc 


Copyright  1912 

^;/    77/^  Macmillan   Company 

Acting  Rights  Reserved 


c    t  (.  c       t        «       c    f       «    ,e* 


T1^ 


lO 


S  TO 

^  ^    FREDERICK    WHELEN 

Cr  *     THE  CHIVALROUS  CHAMPION 

^  OF  ALL   FORLORN  HOPES 

^  FROM  PERSIA  TO  THE  BRITISH 

DRAMA 


NOTE  I 

The  performance  of  this  flay  in  Great  Britain  ' 

is  forbidden  by  the  Lord   Chamberlain.     The  j 

performing  rights  in  all   other  cotmtries   are  \ 

strictly  reserved  by  the  author.  ! 


1 


Characters 

REV.  STEPHEN  TRAME 

SIR  THOMAS  McFADDEN 

HAL  McFADDEN,  M.D.,  M.R.C.S.,  etc, 

THE  BISHOP  OF  THE  SOUDAN 

SQUIRE  ROWLEY 

SILAS  BURR 

ELI  OAKSHOTT 

WILFRED  TRAME 

ANDREWS 

CLARIBEL  MALLING 

SOPHIA 

JOANNA  BURR 

MARY  TRAME 

Choristers  and  Villagers 


ACT  I 

THE  PARSONAGE  IN  DYMTHORPE 

ACT  II 

THE  LODGINGS  IN  WHITECHAPEL 

ACT  III 

THE  VESTRY  IN  ST.  THOMAS'S  TEMPLE 

Over  two  years  elapse  between  Acts  I  and  II 
blearly  ten  years  elapse  between  Acts  II  and  III 


Act  I 

The  study  and  best  room  of  Dymthor'pe  Parsonage  on  a 
sunny  September  morning — a  charming  old-world 
room  with  oaken  beams  giving  by  a  diamond-paned 
casement  on  a  piece  of  sward  which  leads  to  the 
churchyard  and  the  village  church.  Another  window 
R.c.  with  a  cushioned  seat.  In  the  l.  corner  of  the 
room  is  a  cosy  corner  ;  in  the  r.  corner  a  cottage 
piano ;  in  the  centre  a  writing-table  holding  a 
litter  of  papers^  a  spectacle-case,  a  microscope  on 
its  R.  side,  and  a  typewriter  in  the  middle.  The 
door  R.  down  stage  leads  to  the  passage,  the  door 
L.c.  to  the  Rev.  Stephen  Trame'' s  bedroom.  Round 
the  sides  of  the  room  are  bookshelves  with  books 
preponderantly  massive  and  old.  The  few  pictures 
are  of  a  religious  cast,  including  one  photograph  of 
a  group  of  black  savages  in  top-hats. 

SOPHIA,  a  rustic  servant  in  cap  and  apron,  appears  ta 
the  door  r.  ushering  in  an  elegant,  clever-faced 
gentleman  of  thirty-two  with  a  pointed  moustache., 
an  air  of  youth  and  gaiety,  and  a  shade  of  dissipa- 
tion. HAL  McFADDEN,  an  M.D.  who  does  not  practise, 
holds  in  his  hand  amotoring  cap  with  goggles  attached. 

SOPHIA 

Oh,   I   thought   the   Vicar   was  here.      I'll   look   in 
the  church — it  be  only  a  few  rods.  [Exit  r.] 


HAL 

Thank  you.  Oh  [He  follows  her]  and  will  you  please 
my  chauffeur — [The  door  bangs  in  his  face.]  Why 
I 


le  tell 
are 


pretty  girls  always  in  such  a  hurry  ?  .  .  .  Never 
mind  !   [Goes  to  window  r.c,  opens  it  and  calls^  Parker  ! 

CHAUFFEUR  [Outside] 
Yessir  ? 

HAL 

While  I'm  waiting,  you  might  get  some  petrol  in  the 
village. 

CHAUFFEUR  [Outside] 
Looks  too  sleepy,  sir. 

HAL 

That  blacksmith  we  just  passed  will  tell  you.  [A 
lark  sitigs.  Then  there  is  the  sound  oj  the  car  driving 
off  R.  HAL  closes  the  window^  and  turning  es'pies  the 
microscope]  He's  still  got  my  wedding  present.  .  .  . 
And  there's  something  on  the  slide  too  !  [Peers  into 
it.]  Tubercle  bacilli — who's  got  consumption,  I 
wonder  ? 

[Door  L.c.  opens  gently  ;  a  spectacled.,  stooping.,  scholarly 
-figure  appears  in  rather  dusty  clerical  costume.^ 
reading  a  hook  held  close  to  his  eyes.  The  rev. 
STEPHEN  TRAME  is  scarcely  older  than  his  visitor^ 
yet  has  none  oj  his  youth.  His  hair  is  streaked  with 
grey,  his  face  lined  with  thought.  Surprised  to  find 
an  apparent  stranger  bent  over  his  microscope,  he 
stops,  and  coughs  to  draw  his  attention?)^ 

HAL  [Looking  up  with  a  start] 
Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  ! 


STEPHEN  [Eagerly] 
That's  never  Hal's  voice  ! 

HAL 

Yes  it  is,  you  blooming  bat. 

STEPHEN  [Laughingly] 
Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  you. 

[Approaches  him  and  shakes  hands  ajfectionately.] 

HAL 

I  hope  my  microscope  hasn't  made  your  eyes  worse. 

STEPHEN 

No  more  than  my  telescope. 

HAL 

You've  got  a  telescope  too  ?  Sounds  still  more  un- 
professional .  .  .  Though  after  all  [Laughing]  Heaven 
is  your  speciality.    And  how's  Mrs.  Trame  ? 

STEPHEN 

Splendid — always  so  sunny.  I'm  sorry  she's  out  on 
her  charity  rounds.  You  see  the  Squire's  lady  has 
such  low  spirits  that  all  the  parish  work  falls  on 
Mary.  And  to-night,  too,  is  our  Harvest  Thanks- 
giving, and  the  choir  is  so  backward  she  has  to  practise 
the  hymns  in  their  dinner-hour. 

HAL 

Is  she  the  organist  also  ? 

STEPHEN 
Of  course. 
3 


HAL 

When  does  she  find  time  for  the  children  ? 

STEPHEN 

Oh,  there's  only  the  boy  ! 

HAL 

What !    A  British  parson  and  only  one  kid  ! 

STEPHEN 

Unfortunately  !  Mary  has  had  an  illness — I  can  tell 
you  as  a  doctor — there  will  be  no  more  children. 
Won't  you  sit  down  ?  [Offers  arm-chair.'] 

HAL  [Murmuring] 

I'm  sorry.    [Sits.]    Well,  and  is  the  boy  turning  out 

a  genius  like  his  father  ? 

STEPHEN  [Smiling] 

Not  like  his  father.     But  he's  got  music  from  his 

mother.   Really  he's  a  bit  of  an  infant  prodigy. 

HAL 

How  jolly ! 

STEPHEN 

And  you — after  all  these  years  ? 

HAL 

Is  it  all  these  years  ?  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is !  You  and 
I  left  Oxford  when  The  Merry  Milliner  was  running. 

[Begins  whistling  a  waltz,  tune.] 
4 


STEPHEN  [Holding  up  hand] 

Please  !      And  your  father  ?      Still  inventing   those 

dreadful  guns  ? 

HAL 

Yes — and  still  wanting  me  to  practise  my  profession. 
As  an  antidote  to  his,  I  suppose  !  Poor  old  dad.  He's 
in  the  States  now,  worrying  over  armaments  for 
aeroplanes. 

STEPHEN 

And  of  such  murderers  our  civilisation  makes  million- 
aires. 

HAL  \Laughingly\ 

I  see  you  haven't  changed  ! 

SOPHIA  [Opening  door  r.] 

I  can't  find  him — oh,  there  he  be.  [Retreats."] 

HAL  [Who  is  near  r.,  rising\ 

Why,  what's  your  hurry  ?         [Door  hangs  in  his  jaceJ\ 

STEPHEN 

I  see  you  haven't  changed  either. 

HAL 

Oh  yes,  I  have — I'm  a  changed  man  ! 

STEPHEN 

I'm  glad  to  hear  it. 

5 


HAL 

Ha  !   You  think  I've  found  religion  !  j 

STEPHEN  ! 

Haven't  you  ?  ! 

HAL  I 

No — something  better — a  bride  i 

STEPHEN  [Starting  up]  \ 

Ton  !    Tou  going  to  be  married  ?  i 

HAL  i 

Yes,  me  !  That's  what  I've  come  to  you  for  .  .  . 

STEPHEN  j 

Come  to  me  for  ?  i 

HAL 

I  want  you  to  tie  the  knot.  I 

STEPHEN  ; 

I  marry  you/    Tou  whose  sneers  at  Holy  Matrimony      j 
were  only  second  to  your  sneers  at  Holy  Church  !  \ 

HAL 

Oh  well,  marriage  is  like  death — we  all  come  to  it.  | 

STEPHEN  \ 

I  shouldn't  mind  burying  you.  j 

HAL  i 

Thank  you  !  ! 


STEPHEN 

I  don't  mean  it  unkindly — but  a  corpse  can't  help 
itself.  But  as  for  marrying  you,  why  in  heaven's  name 
should  you  want  my  services  ? 

HAL 

Precisely  in  heaven's  name.     Helen — Miss  Munro — 

doesn't  believe  that  marriage  outside  a  church  is 
registered  in  heaven. 

STEPHEN 

But  London  is  not  destitute  of  churches. 

HAL 

No,  they're  almost  as  thick  as  beershops. 

STEPHEN 

Then,  why ? 

HAL 

Because — oh,  confound  it,  old  chap — don't  you  see 
that  as  a  free-thinker  I've  got  my  scruples  too  !  And 
to  hear  a  clergyman  go  through  all  that  canting  stuflE 
would  spoil  my  wedding-day. 

STEPHEN 

But  am  /  not  a  clergyman  ? 

HAL 

No — you're  an  old    pal.      I'm    used    to    you    talking 
nonsense.     I  can  pretend  to  Helen  I  must  have  my 
dear  old  college  chum  to  see  me  through.   But  a  church 
— O  Lord  !   [Shudders.'] 
7 


STEPHEN 

Perhaps  you'll  deny  next  that  mine  is  a  church  ! 

HAL 

It  isn't  a  church — it's  the  country.  [Goes  to  side-window 
and  'points.']  Your  ivy-clad  tower  rises  from  that  sunUt 
grass  like  a  piece  of  nature,  almost  like  another  tree. 
We  could  get  a  special  licence  and  motor  down — it 
would  be  more  like  a  picnic  than  a  prayer-meeting. 
Do,  old  chap  ;    I've  set  my  heart  on  it. 

STEPHEN 

No  really,  Hal,  you  must  excuse  me. 

HAL 

But  why  ? 

STEPHEN 

Because —  [Hesitates.']    Well,  I'd  rather  not. 

HAL 

You  are  robbing  your  poor-box. 

STEPHEN 

Money   that   comes   out   of  cannon !      My   poor-box 

would  spue  it  up. 

HAL 

Not   if   Helen   put   it   in — her   money   comes    out    of 
millinery — no,    no,    not    Merry    Millinery — she's    the 
heiress    of     Munro's     Emporium — most     respectable 
Church  of  England  people. 
8 


STEPHEN 

And  all  this  while  I've  forgotten  to  congratulate  you. 
[Shakes  his  hand.]    I  hope  you'll  be  happy. 

HAL 

Thank  you.    Then  you  will  marry  me. 

STEPHEN  [Dropping  his  hand] 

No  !   No  !   No  !    It  would  be  a  mockery. 

HAL 

I  know  I've  been  a  butterfly.     But  what  about  the 

joy  in  heaven  over  the  sinner  that  repenteth  ? 

STEPHEN 

You  don't  believe  in  heaven  and  you  haven't  repented. 

HAL 

I've  repented  of  being  a  bachelor.  And  what  I  believe 
is  my  own  affair.  Look  here  !  You  are  taking  advan- 
tage of  your  private  knowledge  of  me.  The  Church 
has  not  the  right  to  refuse  me.    I  was  baptized. 

STEPHEN 

Were  you  ?  I  thought  your  father  hates  Chris- 
tianity. 

HAL 

Hates  it  like  poison — like  poison  sold  as  food.     But 
mother  had  me  christened — she  was  dying,  you  know, 
and  he  couldn't  resist  her. 
9 


STEPHEN 

Humph  !  And  so  it  goes  .  .  .  Rotten  through  and 
through,  the  whole  system.  [The  door  r.  flies  open 
abruptly  and  a  pretty  little  curly-headed  boy  of  six 
appears.    Impatiently']  What  is  it  now,  Wilfred  ? 

WILFRED 

I  want  to  play  the  piano.  \Goes  to  it.'] 

STEPHEN 

No,  no,  don't  you  see  there's  a  visitor  ?  [The  boy 
retreats  sulkily.]    Come  and  say  how  do  you  do  ? 

WILFRED  [Retreating] 
I'm  too  busy. 

HAL  [His  whole  manner  softening] 
Oh,  come  and  give  me  a  kiss. 

WILFRED 
Don't  want  to. 

STEPHEN 

Don't  be  rude,  Wilfred.  Say  how  do  you  do,  like 
a  little  gentleman. 

WILFRED  [Smiling  mischievously] 

How  do  you  do  like  a  little  gentleman  ?   [Opens  piano.] 

STEPHEN 

No,  no,  not  now.    Run  away  and  play. 

lO 


WILFRED 

I'm  playing.  [Strikes  opening  chords  of  harvest  hymn.'\ 

HAL 

Ha  !    Ha  !    Ha  !    [Pats  his  head  affectionately.']    Can 
you  play  T^he  Merry  Milliner? 

STEPHEN  [Shutting  the  piano  with  paternal  authori- 

tativeness] 

We  are  talking — you  shall  look  down  my  microscope. 

WILFRED  [Blubbering] 

But  I  want  to  play  the  harvest  hymns. 

STEPHEN  [Leading  him  to  the  door] 
Yes,  dear,  later  on. 

WILFRED  [Crying] 
But  I  want  to  play  now. 

STEPHEN 

Well,  play  your  trumpet — not  too  near  here. 

[Putting  him  outside.] 
WILFRED  [Blubbering] 
But  I  want  to  play  the  piano. 

STEPHEN  [Calli7ig  at  door] 

Sophia  !    Do  keep  Master  Wilfred  quiet  ! 

SOPHIA  [Outside] 

Come  along,  dearie,  I've  got  a  goody  ! 
II 


WILFRED  [Screaming] 

Don't  want  goodies !   [stephen  closes  the  door  on  him.'] 

HAL  [Smiling  at  the  screams] 

There's  no  doubt  he's  musical !  .  .  .  [Resuming  argu- 
ment.] So  you  see,  I  being  a  member  of  the  Church  of 
England,  you  have  no  option.  And  I  want  the  cere- 
mony got  through  before  dad  returns  from  the  States. 

STEPHEN  [Decisively] 

I  cannot  marry  you.     It  would  be  a  mockery,  I  tell 

you. 

HAL 

Because  I'm  not  really  a  Christian  ? 

STEPHEN 

No  !  Because  [He  looks  round  nervously.,  then  closes 
casement.,  which  slightly  darkens  the  room],  because 
Pm  not  really  a  Christian  ! 

HAL  [Whistling] 

Whew  !  .  .  .  You're  not  serious  ? 

STEPHEN 

As  serious  as  Dante  when  he  came  up  out  of  hell. 
The  Church  seems  to  me  like  one  of  those  inland 
ports  from  which  the  sea  has  receded.  The  tides  of 
Truth  beat  elsewhere. 

HAL 

You've  come  round  to  my  viev/s  ?    What  fun  ! 

12 


STEPHEN 

No.  I  have  not  come  round  to  your  views.  But  you 
always  had  for  me  the  fascination  of  opposites.  Do 
you  know  that  in  my  High  Church  Oxford  days  I 
looked  on  you  as  a  temptation  from  the  devil — nay, 
sometimes  almost  as  the  devil  himself  ! 

HAL  [Facetiously] 
The  devil  you  did  ! 

STEPHEN 

Mephisto  casting  his  baleful  shadow  over  the  mediaeval 
sanctities  of  spire  and  tower.  And  yet  behind  all  your 
terrible  sophistry  there  was  truth. 

HAL 

I  am  glad  you  give  the  devil  his  due. 

STEPHEN 

Yes,  but  the  devil's  truth  comes  by  denying — God's 
truth  by  affirming.  From  more  faith,  not  from  less  ! 
The  next  religion  will  be  larger  than  Christianity,  not 
smaller  ;    harder,  not  easier. 

HAL 

The  next  religion  !   What  the  dickens  is  that  ? 

STEPHEN 

The  religion  all  honest  men  are  coming  to — the 
religion  the  world  is  thirsting  for 

HAL 

Go  on,  go  on — Pm  thirsting  now. 
13 


STEPHEN 

The  religion  that  accepts  the  Revelation  of  Science. 

HAL  [Disappointed] 

Science  !    Why,  that's  only  what  dad  believes  in. 

STEPHEN 

I'm  glad  your  father  believes  in  something. 

HAL 

Yes — because  science  is  the  enemy  of  religion. 

STEPHEN 

Only  so  long  as  religion  neglects  to  love  its  enemy. 
Only  so  long  as  religion  refuses  to  acknowledge  the 
true  God. 

HAL 

And  which  of  man's  many  gods  is  that  ? 

STEPHEN 

The  only  one  that  has  never  been  accepted — the  God 
of  Law.  The  God  who  will  send  tuberculosis  even 
through  the  Communion  chalice.  [Points  to  micro- 
scope.] Those  bacilli  you  were  looking  at  came  from 
mine. 

HAL 

I  see  my  microscope  has  done  its  work, 

STEPHEN 

Yes,  but  not  in  your  sense.    Why  we  should  give  up 

H 


God  because  He  is  shown  to  be  infinitely  larger  than 
the  God  of  our  fathers  I  cannot  imagine.  All  we  are 
entitled  to  deny  is  that  He  coddles  the  individual  or 
doles  out  death  and  life  in  answer  to  prayer. 

HAL 

Ha  !  Then  in  the  next  religion  there  won't  be  any 
prayer. 

STEPHEN 

Not  in  the  sense  of  asking  for  favours.  What  favours 
can  there  be  in  a  universe  of  law  ?  Can  you  save  the 
plague-stricken  millions  of  India  by  prayer,  or  will 
the  famine  in  China  abate  under  our  psalms  ? 

HAL  [Smiling] 

Just  what  I  used  to  ask  you  !  Only  at  that  rate  you 
can't  have  thanksgivings  either — these  harvest  hymns 
— what  ? 

STEPHEN 

Of  course  not.  As  if  heaven  scared  the  crows  and 
counted  the  ears  of  corn  !  Ugh  !  [Shudders.]  And 
then  you  come  to  me  and  ask  me  to  read  the  Marriage 
Service  over  you  ! 

HAL 

Why  not  ?   You  read  it  over  others. 

STEPHEN 

Over  my  flock,  sheep  as  they  are.    Over  my  brainless 

gentry,  and  my  bovine  clodhoppers.     I  can  just  bear 

IS 


doing  that — habit  has  dulled  the  edge  of  hypocrisy. 
But  do  you  think  I  could  look  you  in  the  face  and 
babble  that  obsolete  stuff  ?  Could  I  ask  a  blessing 
on  your  marriage  from  the  God  of  Abraham,  that 
Mesopotamia n  polygamist  ?  Could  I  exhort  you 
to  live  as  faithfully  with  Helen  Munro  as  Isaac  with 
Rebekah  I 

HAL 

O  Lord  !    Do  they  come  into  it  ? 

STEPHEN 

Even  Adam  and  Eve  come  into  it. 

HAL 

Really  ?    Naked  and  unashamed  ? 

STEPHEN 

Don't  jest.  I  who  know  that  the  sun  is  only  one  of 
the  twenty  million  stars  of  the  Milky  Way,  and  the 
Milky  Way  itself  only  a  pin-point  in  the  endless 
universe,  have  to  prate  of  the  creation  of  Adam  and 
his  rib  on  this  poky  little  planet.  Talk  of  spoiling  your 
wedding-day — don't  you  see  how  this  sort  of  stuff 
spoils  all  my  days  ? 

HAL 

Then  why  not  chuck  it  ? 

STEPHEN 

All,  if  I  only  could  !    If  I  could  be  the  prophet  of  the 

next  religion  ! 
i6 


HAL 

What  blocks  the  way  ? 

MARY  [Singing  as  she  passes  hy  door  r.] 
*'  Come,  ye  thankful  people,  come, 

Raise  the  song  of  Harvest  Home,"  &c.  &c. 

[Song  dies  away  gradually.'] 
STEPHEN 
There's  your  answer. 

HAL 

Your  wife  ? 

STEPHEN 

It  would  break  her  heart. 

HAL 

So  you  break  yours  instead. 

STEPHEN 

That  is  my  only  consolation.  That  I  suffer.  That  I 
do  not  stagnate  like  the  majority  of  us  parsons.  That 
the  truth  I  dare  not  utter  is  a  fire  burning  inside  me. 

HAL 

Cheer  up  !  In  the  Middle  Ages  it  would  have  been  a 
fire  burning  outside  you, 

STEPHEN 

I  could  have  welcomed  the  stake — to  stretch  my  arm 
into  the  flame  like  Cranmer,  if  only  I  could  kindle  it 
into  a  torch. 

17  8 


1 
HAL  [Patting  his  shoulder'] 

Dear  old  Steve,  the  more  you  change,  the  more  you  ; 

are  the  same.  | 

STEPHEN                                                    .     .    .  ' 

Dear  old  Hal — if  you  only  knew  what  a  relief  it  is  to  ! 
confess  myself  to  you  ! 

HAL 

What  fun  !    I  came  to  find  a  priest  and  you  make  me 

one.  .  .  .    [Resignedly]  Then  I  suppose  I  must  marry  i 
myself. 

STEPHEN  [Eagerly]  ] 

Of  course  you  must.    What  right  has  any  other  man  1 

to   pretend   he   can   sanctify  you   and  your   doings  ?  ' 

The  same  Holy  Ghost  is  in  us  all.  j 

HAL                                                    ^  j 

Ha  !    So    the   Holy    Ghost    comes    into     the     next  | 
religion. 

STEPHEN                           ^  i 

How  could  there  be  a  religion  without  it  ?  i 

HAL  i 

And  is  that  all  the  salvage  from  the  bankruptcy  of  the  • 

creeds  ?  i 

i 
STEPHEN 

What  more  do  we  want  ? 

i8  I 


HAL 

Well,  most  people  want  to  survive  the  grave. 

STEPHEN 

Absurd  !     They  can't  even  manage  this  life — as  you 

used  to  say. 

HAL 

Well — do  you  know  ? — since  I  met  Helen  I've  some- 
times fancied  there  may  be  a  survival  of  the  fittest. 

STEPHEN 

Fancy  you  saying  that  !    No,  Hal,  I'm  afraid- 


\The  casement  is  pushed  open  from  without,  mary 
TRAME  appears — a  sweet-jaced,  woman  of  nearly 
thirty^  holding  an  armjul  oj  chrysanthemums.  Her 
voice  is  anxious.'\ 

MARY 

Is  Wilfy  with  you  ? 

STEPHEN  [Startled,  blinking  at  the  increased  light"] 
No,  dearest,  but  an  old  friend.   Come  in  ! 

MARY  [Not  coming,  hut  bowing  slightly] 
How  do  you  do  ?    Sophia  says  he  ran  out  into  the  road 
screaming,  but  I  can't  see  him.    You  said  you'd  keep 
your  eye  on  him. 

STEPHEN  [Smiling] 

I  haven't  much  eye  to  keep. 

19 


MARY  \JVith  fresh  anxiety — steps  in] 

Oh  dear,  did  you  put  in  your  drops  at  eleven  ? 

STEPHEN 

I  can't  remember. 

MARY 

Hold  these  a  moment. 

[Gives  him  the  flowers  and  goes  through  door  l.] 

STEPHEN 

Now  she's  gone  to  get  my  eye-drops. 

HAL 

Seems  to  keep  her  eye  on  everything. 

STEPHEN 

She's  a  saint.  How  can  I  tell  her  that  these  chrysan- 
themums she's  dressing  up  the  church  with  are  only 
a  relic  of  Greek  paganism  ?  [Drops  them  on  table.] 

HAL 

I  suppose  she  would  arise  and  go  unto  her  father,  the 
converter  of  cannibals. 

[Looks  up  at  picture  of  savages  in  top-hats.] 

STEPHEN 

Don't  laugh.   My  poor  Mary  ! 

HAL 

I'm  not  laughing.    I  rather  admire  the  old  bishop.    It 
requires  some  pluck  to  preach  to  people  who  regard 
you  more  as  a  meal  than  a  minister. 
20 


STEPHEN 

He  risks  his  life,  he  won't  risk  his  brains.    He  never 

thinks. 

HAL 

I  suppose  those  are  the  Christian  fathers  of  the  Congo. 
[Re-enter  mary  l.,  shaking  a  phial  at  her  husband.'] 

MARY 

You  shameless  sinner  !  You  haven't  used  a  drop  ! 

STEPHEN  [Introducing] 

Dr.  McFadden,  son  of    the   famous  inventor — Mrs. 

Trame. 

MARY  [Almost  ignoring  hal,  with  a  faint  how] 
Sit  down,  dear  !     Your  friend  will  excuse  me  when 
he  knows  that  on  the  best  Wiesbaden  authority  only 
these  drops  stand  between  you  and  blindness. 

HAL 

Certainly.  Go  ahead,  [mary  quietly  begins  dropping 
drops  along  the  glass  rod  into  her  husband's  eyes.]  That's 
a  jolly  little  boy  you've  got. 

MARY  [Pausing  in  relief] 
Oh,  then  he  was  here  just  now  ? 

STEPHEN 

Of  course,  Mary,  you're  always  so  nervous. 

MARY 

Well,  with  these  horrid  motorists  about ! 

21 


HAL  [Bozving] 
Thank  you. 

MARY 

I  didn't  mean 

HAL 

No,  but  I  assure  you  the  only  person  I've  ever  damaged 
was  myself. 

STEPHEN 

There's  not  much  trace  of  that. 

HAL 

No.  Thanks  to  X-rays.  Was  unconscious  for  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  even  now  I  can't  remember  the  actual 
smash.    It's  a  death  I  can  recommend. 

[Noise  of  car  returning  r.] 
MARY  [Jlarmed] 
There's  another. 

HAL 

No,  only  mine  coming  back.    I  must  be  off. 

STEPHEN 

Nonsense,  stay  to  lunch. 

HAL 

No,  thank  you.  [Goes  to  window  and  looks  r.  Car 
heard  panting."]  There,  Mrs.  Trame,  you  can  satisfy 
yourself  there  is  no  gore  on  my  wheels. 

22 


MARY  [Half  hysterically'] 
Don't,  please. 

STEPHEN 

Why  won't  you  lunch  with  us  ?     You're  not  angry 
because  I ? 

HAL 

No,  no,  I  quite  feel  with  you 


STEPHEN 

Then  why ? 

MARY  [Purposely  interrupting] 

Open  a  little  wider  !  [stephen  dilates  his  eyes.] 

HAL 

Good-bye,  Mrs.  Trame. 

MARY 

Good-bye.     [Busily  dropping  drops.]     Excuse  my  not 
shaking  hands — you  can  go  out  by  the  window. 

HAL 

Thank  you.    So  long,  Steve  !    I'll  send  you  an  invita-         j 
tion.  [Exit  by  casement^  goes  r.]  , 

STEPHEN  j 

You  might  have  pressed  him  to  lunch. 

MARY 

That  brute  ?  [hal  passes  window  r.] 

23 


STEPHEN  1 

Sh  !    He's  a  fine  chap  at  bottom. 

MARY  ^  I 

A  man  who  could  joke  about  Wilfy's  blood  on  his  j 

wheels.    Besides,  he  has  a  sneering,  unchristian  face.  | 

1 
STEPHEN  ■ 

Tou  were  unchristian  not  to  ask  him  to  lunch.  i 

MARY  : 

I  almost  wish  now  I  had. 

STEPHEN  [Triumphant]  \ 

Ha!  \ 

MARY  i 

Because  there  isn't  any  .  .  .  [Finishes  phial  business,  i 
straightens  herself]  except  bread  and  cheese.  Cook's  ' 
ill. 

\ 

1 

STEPHEN 

111  ?   [Car  heard  driving  offK."]  You  don't  mean  drunk 
again  ? 

MARY 

I  put  her  to  bed  so  she  shouldn't  spoil  your  harvest 

sermon.     I  hope  you've  thought  it  out.     [l^akes  up 

chrysanthemums,   goes  to   casement,  stepping  out.]     As         j 

soon  as  I've  found  Wilfy  and  finished  in  church  I'll         i 

be  ready  to  type  the  heads. 

24  \ 


STEPHEN 

Bother  my  sermon  !     How  can  I  keep  my  thoughts 

spiritual  with  a  drunken  cook  in  the  house  ? 

MARY  [Turning] 

By  remembering,  dear,    that    she    has  an   immortal 

soul. 

STEPHEN 

Cook  immortal  ?    What  is  she  going  to  do  with  her 

eternity  f 

MARY  [Surprised  and  gently  reproving"] 

What  are  we  all  going  to  do  with  our  eternity  ? 

STEPHEN 

I'm  sure  I  don't  know. 

[Peers  half  absently  into  microscope.] 

MARY  [Shocked] 
You  don't  know  ? 

STEPHEN 

Do  you  ?  .  .  .  Millions  and  millions  and  millions  of 

years  ! 

MARY  [Disconcerted] 

Well,  of  course,  we  see  but  through  a  glass  darkly 

STEPHEN   [Peering  into  microscope] 

Quite  so.  .  .  .  [She  steps  out  again.     He  murmurs  to 

himself]  An  eternity  to  get  drunk  in  ! 

25 


MARY  \7ur fling  agaiti] 
Did  you  say  anything,  dear  ? 

STEPHEN  [Uneasily'] 

I  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  how  was  your  old  washerwoman  ? 

MARY 

Mrs.  Glossop  ?  Poor  thing  !  The  sooner  she's  taken 
the  better.  But  she  knows  how  she'll  spend  eternity — 
away  from  the  wash-tub. 

STEPHEN 

That's  only  a  negative  idea. 

[Peers  again  into  microscope.] 
MARY 

I  know — but  wasn't  it  quaint  and  pathetic  ?  "  I'll 
soon  be  in  heaven,  mum,"  she  said,  "  where  there's  no 
white  dresses  !  " 

STEPHEN  [Smiling] 

Hardly  the  conventional  heaven. 

MARY  [Smiling] 

No  !   .  .   .  But    don't    make    yourself    blinder,    dear, 

with  that  miserable 

[eli  oakshott,  the  blacksmith,  in  his  apron  and 
holding  a  big  hammer  in  his  right  hand,  appears 
behind  her  from  r.  leading  wilfred  by  his  left 
hand.  The  blacksmith  is  a  brawny  giant,  who  looks 
the  soul  of  good  iiature.] 

OAKSHOTT  [Cheerily] 
Here  he  be,  mum  ! 
26 


MARY     [With  a  cry  of  joy] 
Wiliy  ! 

[Drops  the  chrysanthemums  on  a  chair  and  folds 

him  in  her  arms.] 

OAKSHOTT 

He  will  stand  too  near  the  forge,  mum. 

MARY 

O  Wilfred,  I  told  you 

WILFRED 

But  I  like  to  watch  the  sparks. 

OAKSHOTT 

Ay,  it  be  a  glorious  sight — always  minds  me  of  the 
souls  in  hell.  But  we  don't  want  little  boys  to  burn. 
Well  [Going\  God  bless  you  all. 

WILFRED  [Breaking  from   his  mother  and  catching 
the  blacksmith  round  the  leg] 
No,  no,  I  don't  want  you  to  go. 

OAKSHOTT 

I've  got  my  work,  sonny. 

WILFRED 

Well,  let  me  hold  your  hammer  a  moment. 

OAKSHOTT  [Giving  it] 
There  ! 

MARY 

No,  no.    It's  too  heavy.    [To  blacksmith,  reproachfully] 

How  could  you  ?        [Takes  it  from  child  and  returns  it.] 

27 


OAKSHOTT 

I  can't  resist  the  little  'uns,  'specially  when  I  thinks 
of  what  our  Lord  said  about  suffering  'em  to  come  to 
Him.     Good-bye,  sonny.  [Kisses  him  and  exit  to  r.] 

MARY 

You  silly  boy,  suppose  it  had  dropped  on  your  little 

toeses. 

WILFRED 

Toes,  Sophia  says,  not  toeses. 

MARY 
Toeses^j"  ! 

[Catches  him  up  and  kisses  the  tips  of  his  shoes.] 

STEPHEN  [In  paternal  superiority] 
Well,  talk  of  licking  people's  shoes  1 

MARY 

You  hug  your  microbes,  you  old  grizzly-growler.   You 
don't  deserve  to  have  such  a  son.  [Going.] 

STEPHEN 

Don't  forget  the  chrysanthemums.    [Picks  them  up.] 

WILFRED  [Struggling  down] 

/'ll  carry  them.  [Takes  them.] 

MARY  [Taking  his  hand] 

And  we  must  hurry,  petsy,  or  the  Squire  will  be  down 

to  see  the  decorations. 
28 


STEPHEN 

Old  meddler  !  He  always  reminds  me  of  that  verse  in 
Genesis — the  Lord  God  walking  in  the  garden,   [^zij.] 

MARY 

Don't  be  profane,  dear — even  the  Squire  has  his  cross 

to  bear. 

STEPHEN 

You  mean  his  gout. 

MARY. 

I  mean  his  wife. 

STEPHEN  [Smiling] 

Poor  lachrymose  lady  !  What  will  she  do  with  her 
Eternity  ?  She  has  to  play  patience  every  night  to 
get  rid  of  Time  !  And  how  is  the  Squire  going  to  be 
happy  in  heaven  unless  the  cherubs  curtsey  ? 

MARY 

Come  along,  Wilfy,  your  father  is  getting  flippant. 

[Leads  child  out.] 
STEPHEN  [Tragically'] 
Flippant !  [Lets  his  head  fall  in  his  hands.l 

MARY  [Turning  on  the  grass  and  catching  up  wilfred 
and  kissing  his  toes  in  gay  defiance — they  make  a 
pretty  picture^  the  boy  holding  the  flowers.] 

Ha  !   Ha  !   Ha  ! 

[STEPHEN  raises  his  head  wearily  and  drops  it  again. 
She  sings  sunnily] 

29 


"  Let  Thy  Saints  be  gathered  in, 
Free  from  sorrow,  free  from  sin." 
Sing  up,  Wilfy — wake  the  sluggard  up. 

WILFRED]   ...     .    T 
MARY        I  [^^^^^"^] 

"All  upon  the  golden  floor 
Praising  Thee  for  evermore." 

MARY 

Join  in  the  harvest  hymn,  Daddy  !    It'll  inspire  your 
sermon. 

WILFREDl    rc-     •      /    ^     1 
MARY         J   l^^^g^^g  louder,] 

"  Come  with  all  Thine  angels,  come " 

STEPHEN  [Jumpmgup] 

Mary,  I  cannot  stand  it  any  longer. 

iMARY  [Laughingly] 

Do  we  sing  so  badly  as  all  that  ? 

STEPHEN 

Those  played-out  stage  properties — Angels,  Squalling 
Saints,  Golden  Floor  ! 

MARY  [Her  laughing  face  growing  sudde7ily  frozen  and 

asheri] 
Put  the  flowers  by  the  altar,  Wilfy — I'll  come  in  a 
moment. 

[Exit  WILFRED  by  sward  r.    mary's  eyes  on  him  a 

few  seconds.] 
30 


STEPHEN  [To  himself] 

Good  God !    What  have  I  said  .  .  .  ?  [Falls  back  into 

his  chair.]    My  poor  Mary  ! 

MARY  [Coming  to  him] 

My  poor  Stephen  !   Have  you  seen  Dr.  Rogers  lately  ? 

STEPHEN 

I  saw  him  in  church  Sunday  evening  [Babbles  nervously], 
and  it  fidgeted  me.  I  always  expect  to  see  the  verger 
beckon  him  out  to  a  birth  or  a 

MARY " 

You  know  what  I  mean.   Have  you  consulted  him  ? 

STEPHEN 

You  think  I  am  ill — mad  perhaps. 

MARY 

I  think  your  nerves  are  overstrung — you  cry  out  in 
your  sleep — I've  been  apprehending  a  breakdown. 

STEPHEN 

That  was  why  you  made  me  leave  my  books  and  dig 

in  the  garden  I 

MARY 

That  and  your  eyes. 

STEPHEN 

Digging  made  me  worse.  Every  scoop  of  my  spade 
sliced  through  a  red  writhing  worm.  People  prate  of 
31 


the  peace  of  Nature.  Every  square  inch  of  Nature  is 
packed  with  struggle  and  sorrow.  Oh,  when  I  think 
of  these  bHnd  wriggUng  creatures  labouring  on  our 
soils,  bringing  the  fine  mould  to  the  top  and  making 
passages  for  the  rains  and  dews,  I  feel  it  is  to  the  worms 
we  should  be  singing  our  harvest  hymns. 

MARY  [Feeling  his  forehead] 
Yes,  yes,  how  hot  your  head  is  ! 

STEPHEN 

You  think  I  am  ill  because  I  dare  to  face  life  as  it  is — 

to  see  the  tears  of  things  ! 

MARY 

It  is  because  you  are  ill  that  I  have  acquiesced  in  your 
not  facing  them,  that  I  have  gone  in  your  place  to 
comfort  old  Mrs.  Glossop  on  her  bed  of  cancer. 

STEPHEN 

Comfort  her  !  Poor  old  washerwoman  !  Sixty  years  of 
drudgery,  eleven  children  born  in  agony  and  reared 
on  bread  and  dripping — and  now  to  lie  crucified  with 
cancer  !  And  I  have  to  comfort  her  by  telling  her 
her  God  took  a  day  off. 

MARY  [Appalled'] 

Stephen  !    What  are  you  saying  I 

STEPHEN 

A  day  off  the  joy  of  His  eternal  omnipotence — one 

single  day  of  suffering — they  call  it  Good  Friday. 

32 


MARY  [Breathes] 
My  God ! 

STEPHEN 

The  real  Good  Friday  would  be  that  which  gave  us 

the  cure  for  cancer. 

MARY 

You  make  my  blood  run  cold. 

STEPHEN 

Let  it  run  cold.  Cold  is  great,  cold  is  life-giving. 
Lazzaroni  of  religion,  we  have  drowsed  too  long  in  a 
tropical  theology,  that  has  enervated  and  unmanned 
us.  We  talk  as  if  scrofulous  babies  dropped  from 
heaven,  and  poverty  and  disease  were  providential 
opportunities  for  prayer.  But  just  as  the  millions  who 
died  of  yellow  fever  might  have  been  saved  if  instead 
of  looking  to  the  skies  they  had  wiped  out  the  mos- 
quito, so  we  might  have  cleaned  out  our  swamp  of 
misery  and  evil  centuries  ago  if  we  hadn't  looked  to 
some  gigantic  genie  in  the  clouds  to  do  all  our  dirty 
work  and  give  us  golden  floors  to  squat  on  into  the 
bargain. 

MARY  [fVith  white  set  face] 

And  do  you  say  there  is  wobody  in  the  skies  ? 

STEPHEN 

I  say  there  is  somebody  in  ourselves.     Once  wolves^ 
howled  where  now  our  garden  flowers.     As  our  an- 
cestors cleared  out  the  wolves,  so  we  must  clear  out 

33  C 


every  cruel  and  evil  force  outside  us  and  within  us 
till  all  earth  becomes  a  garden. 

MARY 

Even  my  father  would  say  "  Amen  "  to  that. 

STEPHEN 

With  his  lips.    But  his  eyes  are  fixed  on  salvation  in  a 

world  beyond.    "  One  world  at  a  time,"  say  I. 

MARY 

But  we  must  look  to  the  next,  too. 

STEPHTIN 

No  !  It's  this  cloudy  belief  that  everything  will  be 
somehow  cleaned  up  in  another  world  that  makes  us 
tolerate  all  these  miseries  and  injustices.  Besides,  who 
knows  that  there  is  a  next  world  ?  Where  was  Hal 
McFadden  after  his  motor  accident — during  those 
twenty-four  hours  of  unconsciousness  ?  No,  let  us 
have  the  courage  to  grasp  our  nettle.  Let  us  recognise 
that  death  is  death. 

MARY  [Dazed'] 
Death  is  death  ? 

STEPHEN 

What  else  makes  its  blackness  and  its  beauty,  its  terror 
and  its  tranquillity  ?    Why  else  these  tears  ? 

[soPHiA  ofens  the  door  r.] 
SOPHIA 

Please,  mum,  the  choir. 
34 


1 


MARY  [Dazed] 
The  choir  ? 

SOPHIA 

They  be  waiting  for  the  organ. 

MARY 

Oh,  the  choir-practice  !  Yes,  yes,  say  I'll  come  in  a 
minute.  [Exit  sophia.]  Oh,  I  felt  that  that  McFadden 
was  an  evil  influence.    And  you — God's  ordained  ! 

STEPHEN 

God's  ordained  !    Oh,  if  that  was  true — if  I  were  the 

man  ordained  to  bring  the  next  religion  ! 

MARY  [Overwhelmed] 
The  next  religion  I 

STEPHEN 

Yours  was  not  always  in  the  world — the  next  must 
begin  some  time  too. 

MARY  [Breaking  down  in  tears] 

O  blessed  Jesus,  help  my  husband  in  this  his  sore  trial 

and  temptation  ! 

STEPHEN 

Calm  yourself,  dear — the  choir  is  waiting. 

MARY  [Struggling  with  herself] 

Yes,  yes,  I  am  exciting  your  poor  tired  brain.    Come, 

darling.    [Tries  to  lead  him  to  his  bedroom  l.]    My  pet 

35 


shall  lie  down  and  mummy  will  take  oS  his  horrid 
glasses. 

STEPHEN 

Mary,  do  try  and  realise  I'm  neither  insane  nor  an 
infant.  Just  as  Luther  was  called  to  make  the  religion 
you  now  hold,  so  am  I  called  to  make  the  religion  of 
our  children. 

MARY 

The  religion  of  Wilfred — O  my  God  ! 

[The  organ  and  choir  burst  out  joyously  r.] 

CHOIR 

"  Come,  ye  thankful  people,  come. 
Raise  the  song  of  Harvest  Home,"  &c.  &c. 
\7he   hymn   continues  as  an   undercurrent   to   the 
.    conversation.'^ 

STEPHEN 

Why,  who  is  playing  the  organ  ? 

MARY  [Ecstatic] 
It  must  be  Wilfy  ! 

STEPHEN 
The  little  rascal ! 

MARY 

The  little  angel  !    That  Is  God's  answer  to  your  blas- 
phemy !   Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings ! 
36 


STEPHEN 

Yes,  indeed.    It  is  Wilfred  that  has  taught  me, 

MARY 

You  !   Why,  you  hardly  ever  take  any  notice  of  him. 

STEPHEN 

It  is  his  childish  questionings  about  God  and  man— r 
how  shall  I  answer  him  ?  ^ 

MARY 

As  your  father  answered  yoti. 

STEPHEN 

Exactly.    My  father  answered  me  as  truly  as  he  knew. 
Shall  /  give  answers  I  know  to  be  false  I 

MARY 

How  do  you  know  they  are  false  ? 

STEPHEN 

O   Mary,  do  you  think  I  have  not  agonised  to  find 

them  false  I    I  have  been  to  the  bottom  of  things. 

MARY 

Are  you  sure  it  was  the  bottom  ?     You're  so  short- 
sighted. 

STEPHEN  [Relieved] 

Ah,  now  you  are  your  old  teasing  self  !     Go  to  your 

choir,  dear  ! 

6  0  0  4  0 


MARY 

To  my  choir  ?  To  tell  them  they  are  singing  a  lie  ? 
That  all  this  holy  peace  around  us  is  a  mockery  ? 
[Goes  to  zvindozv.']  Look  at  these  stones  of  the  dead 
who  fell  asleep  in  Christ — will  you  dare  to  say  their 
faith  was  false?  You  may  as  well  question  the  sunshine 
and  the  sweet  grass. 

STEPHEN 

It  is  no  sweeter  than  their  sleep. 

MARY 

And  they  will  never  wake  ? 

STEPHEN 

We  wake  in  our  children.  Before  Wilfred  came,  life 
did  sometimes  seem  a  blind  alley  leading  to  a  tomb — 
now  through  his  eyes  I  look  beyond,  and  crying  to 
the  new  generation  "  God-speed,"  I  shall  be  content, 
after  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day,  to  fold  my  hands 
in  sleep. 

MARY  [Passionately] 

And  where  is  the  reward  for  the  heat  and  burden, 

the  struggle  and  the  suffering  ? 

STEPHEN 

The  struggle  is  its  own  reward,  the  joy  of  battle.  To 
fight  for  the  right  is  to  share  God's  work.  Do  you 
want  a  lubberland  of  eternal  lollipops  ? 

MARY 

I  want  to  be  with  God. 

38 


STEPHEN 

You  are  with  God  now — or  never.    We  have  only  our 

moment  of  life — let  us  make  it  the  highest. 

MARY 

Is  that  the  next  religion  ? 

STEPHEN 
That  is  its  essence. 

MARY 

And  death  ends  all  ? 

STEPHEN 

Death  softens  and  renews  all,  as  night  softens  and 
renews  the  day  .  .  .  You  are  shivering — I'll  shut 
the  window.  [Moving  to  it.] 

MARY 

No  !   It  is  your  Arctic  religion. 

STEPHEN 

Its  glacial  truths  will  breed  a  sturdier  race  than  your 
tropical  theology.  We  can't  drug  ourselves  any  longer 
with  the  dreams  and  myths  of  our  fathers.  Man  rose 
from  the  brute,  not  fell  from  the  angel,  and  the 
Holy  Ghost  that  urged  him  upwards  still  breathes  in 
us  and  urges  us  to  heights  yet  more  divine. 

MARY  [Passionately] 

Yes,  to  seek  God  through  Christ. 

39 


STEPHEN 

We  can  only  seek  Him  through  ourselves. 

MARY 

But  why  should  we  worship  a  God  who  ignores  us  ? 

STEPHEN 

Why  do  you  worship  Beethoven  or  Bach  or  lose 
yourself  in  a  great  landscape  ?  Worship  enlarges  us. 
We  are  like  shore-sponges — we  may  saturate  ourselves 
in  the  infinite  salt-flowing  sea  around  us  or  be  left 
on  the  beach  dry  and  gritty  and  small. 

MARY 

Your  religion  is  terrible  ' 

STEPHEN 

Life  is  terrible.  God  is  terrible.  The  whole  creation 
groaneth  and  travaileth — what  religion  evei  said 
otherwise  ?     Tour  religion  is  terrible. 

MARY 

Mine  ? 

STEPHEN 

To  those  who  really  believe  it.   Listen. 

[Selects  an  old  folio  from  the  shelves."] 

MARY 

What  book  is  that  ? 

STEPEIEN 

"  St.  Fulgentius  on  the  Faith  " — a  highly  esteemed 
40 


work  of  the  sixth  century.  [Searching  for  the  page."] 
I  will  translate  the  Latin  :  "  We  must  believe  beyond 
doubt  that  not  only  men  who  are  come  to  the  use  of 
reason  but  infants,  whether  they  die  in  their  mother's 
womb  or  after  they  are  born — unless  they  have  been 
baptized  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy 
Ghost — are  punished  with  everlasting  punishment  in 
eternal  fire." 

MARY 

Fulgentius  was  a  fool — an  old  monk  who  never  had  a 
child.   That  is  not  my  religion. 

STEPHEN 

But  you  saw  how  hurriedly  I  had  to  christen  Mrs. 
Mason's  baby  because  it  was  dying.  And  even  you 
are  fearing  /  shall  be  eternally  damned  because  I  am 
no  longer  a  Christian. 

MARY 

I  will  baptize  you  again  with  my  tears. 

STEPHEN 

You  see  !  You're  just  as  foolish  as  Fulgentius.  [Takes 
her  hand."]  Now  do  exercise  your  reason,  dear.  Because 
I  can't  credit  a  Resurrection  about  which  even  the 
Apostles  contradict  themselves 

MARY  [Snatching  her  hand  away"] 

You  make  me  feel — home-sick.    [Breaks  down  in  fresh 

tears.'\  And  I  thought  this  was  my  home. 

[Going  out  distractedly  at  casement.'] 
41 


STEPHEN 

Where  are  you  going  ? 

MARY 

I  want  my  Wilfy.  The  world  is  falling  to  pieces 
around  me.    I  want  something  solid  to  hold  by. 

[Is  outside.^ 
STEPHEN 
Yes,  dear,  but  dry  your  eyes. 

MARY  [Turning] 

Stephen,  if  what  you  say  were  true,  if  there  is  no 
heaven  for  old  Mrs.  Glossop  after  her  life  of  toil  and 
pain,  you  ought  to  hush  it  up,  as  we  hushed  up  the 
suicide  of  her  son  in  Canada.  How  are  these  poor 
souls  to  bear  it  ? 

STEPHEN 

Those  who  cannot  bear  it  will  not  believe  it.     But 

you — you  will  be  strong. 

MARY 
I  ? 

STEPHEN 

You  and  I  together.    We  will  strengthen  each  other. 

We  will  go  out  and  teach  the  strong. 

MARY 
Go  out  ? 

STEPHEN 

I  cannot  stay  here  and  eat  the  bread  of  hypocrisy. 

42 


MARY 

Stephen  !    Your  levity  amazes  me. 

STEPHEN 
My  levity  ? 

MARY 

What  else  is  it  ?    You're  like  a  child  with  a  new  toy. 
You  think  of  nothing  but  your  new  religion. 

STEPHEN 

Why,  what  else  should  I  think  of  ? 

MARY 

Of  your  parishioners,  of  your  boy,  even  of  me.    What 

is  to  become  of  us  ? 

STEPHEN 

My  sheep  will  get  another  shepherd.    You  and  I  and 

Wilfred    will   live    in    London — the    place    of   large 

thoughts. 

MARY 

And  what  shall  we  live  on  ? 

STEPHEN 

It  is  that  sordid  question  of  loaves  and  fishes  that 
keeps  the  Church  stagnant,  infested  with  gagged 
ministers ;  who  believe  as  few  of  the  Thirty-Nine 
Articles  as  I  do.    I  will  not  hear  it. 

MARY 

But  you  shall  hear  it.   You  know  I  can  only  typewrite. 

43 


STEPHEN 

/'U  find  something. 

MARY 

What  thing  ? 

STEPHEN 

Weil — er — I  can  write  for  the  papers. 

MARY 

With  your  eyes ? 

STEPHEN 
I  can  coach. 

MARY 

There's  as  much  competition  in  coaching  as  in  typing. 

STEPHEN  [Impatienily\ 
1  will  earn  our  bread. 

MARY 

By  preaching  the  next  religion  ? 

STEPHEN 

God  forbid  !    The  next  religion  will  not  petrify  itself 

by  a  paid  priesthood. 

MARY 

Then  you'll  earn  our  bread  in  the  intervals  of  preach- 
ing it  ? 
44 


STEPHEN 
I  suppose  so. 

MARY 

Really,  Stephen,  you've  no  more  sense  than  a  baby. 
No  !   Here  we  are  and  here  we  stay. 

STEPHEN  [Piteously] 
You  won't  go  with  me  ? 

MARY  [Decisively] 
Nor  you  without  me. 

STEPHEN 
I  must. 

MARY 

You  would  leave  me  ? 

STEPHEN 

It  is  you  that  would  leave  me.  You  took  me  for  better 

or  worse. 

MARY 

My  vows  before  God's  altar  cannot  bind  me  to  spread 
atheism. 

STEPHEN  [Passionately] 
It's  not  atheism. 

MARY 

St.  Paul  says :    "  Be  ye  not  unequally  yoked  together 

with  unbelievers."    I  shall  go  to  my  father. 

45 


STEPHEN 

Just  what  McFadden  predicted. 

MARY 

McFadden  !  I  knew  he  was  behind  it  all.  And  never 
a  thought  of  my  father — of  the  pain  to  him,  the  harm 
to  his  reputation  !  Think  how  he's  encouraged  and 
admired  you — ever  since  you  were  an  orphan  boy  in 
Christ's  Hospital. 

STEPHEN 

I've  thought  of  everything,  Mary.    But  I  can't  hurt 

anybody  more  than  I  hurt  myself. 

MARY 

Yes,  you  do — you  hurt  me  more — immeasurably 
more.  \Sobs.'] 

STEPHEN 

O  Mary,  Mary  dear,  don't,  don't  ! 

MARY 

You  don't  consider  me  one  bit. 

STEPHEN 

My  darling 


MARY 

All  our  lovely  home  broken  up — Wilfy  taken  from  this 
splendid  air  to  some  miserable  London  street  .  .  . 
only  last  week  I  finished  the  new  altar  cloth  [Sinks 
sobbing  on  cosy  corner].     And  this  cosy  corner  just 

fitted  up  ! 
46 


STEPHEN 

You  put  your  cosy  corner  before  my  conscience  t 

MARY  [Rising] 

You've  got  no  conscience.    Where's  your  duty  to  me 

and  Wilfred  ?     Promise  me  you'll  do  nothing  rash  ! 

[Clings  to  him.] 
STEPHEN 
My  dearest ! 

MARY 

Promise  me  you'll ! 

SQUIRE  ROWLEY  [Outside  window  r.] 
Now,  you  boys — ^get  off  that  tree  ! 

STEPHEN  1  T^u    c     •     I 
MARY        J  ^^^  S^^^^^  ' 

[Drying  her  eyes^  mary  hurries  out  door  r.] 

SQUIRE  [Appearing  at  casement  with  a  great  string 

of  bananas] 
You  in,  Parson  ? 

[l^he  squire  is  a  century  older  than  his  years :  he 

wears  a  white  square  howler  and  corduroy  breeches 

and  sports  a  great  florid  Jace.] 

STEPHEN 

Yes,  Mr.  Rowley. 

SQUIRE 

Then  perhaps  you'll  take  these  beastly  bananas. 

47 


STEPHEN 

Eh  ?  [Takes  them  in  'peering  bewilderment.'\ 

SQUIRE 

Can't  have  them  in  the  church.  Never  heard  of  such 
harvest  decorations. 

STEPHEN 

Mrs.  Trame  thought  that  as  they  were  sent  from  the 
Manor 

SQUIRE 

Yes,  that's  what  comes  of  letting  to  London  stock- 
brokers. Sheaves  of  corn  the  Almighty  looks  for — 
flowers,  apples,  carrots,  potatoes,  even  grapes  as  long 
as  they're  grown  here.  But  bananas  !  The  Lord 
wouldn't  know  His  own  church. 

STEPHEN  [Holding  bananas  uncertainly] 
But  the  donors  will  expect  to  see  them. 

SQUIRE 

Will  they,  by  Gad  !    It  was  bananas  that  brought  the 

mosquitoes  here. 

STEPHEN 

Really  ? 

SQUIRE 

Came  in  the  banana  boxes.    Look  at  that  bite  on  my 

arm  !     [Rolls  up  sleeve.]    One  might  as  well  live  in  a 

Catholic  country  !  [Enter  sophia  r.] 

48 


SOPHIA    [To  STEPHEN] 

Please,  sir,  Farmer  Burr  be  come  to  see  you. 

SQUIRE 

Be  he  indeed,  the  rapscallion  !     Then  /'ll  go  back  to 
the  choir-practice.     I'll  have  no  truck  with  atheists. 

[Exit  by  window  and  goes  r.] 

STEPHEN 

Show  Farmer  Burr  in. 

[Organ  breaks  out  in  greater  volume  with  the  more 
joyous  hymn  "  We  -plough  the  fields  and  scatter  "  as 
MARY  replaces  wilfred.] 

SQUIRE  [Turning  his  head  back  to  Stephen] 

Ah  !  that's  better  !     I  thought  the  organ  was  sounding 

a  bit  thin  ! 

[Disappears.  Stephen  puts  bananas  on  table  and 
closes  the  window^  reducing  the  hymn  to  a  vague 
undercurrent.  Enter  farmer  burr  in  his  best 
black  clothes,  awkwardly  holding  a  high  hat.  He 
has  an  honest  jace  with  large  doglike  eyes.] 

STEPHEN 

Good  day,  Burr.     Won't  you  sit  down  ? 

BURR  [Disregarding  invitation] 
You're  surprised  to  see  me,  Parson. 

STEPHEN 

Why  ?     This  isn't  church. 

49  ^ 


BURR 

'Tis  next  door  to  it — and  about  as  near  as  Silas  Burr 

will  ever  get. 

STEPHEN 

Oh  no,  the  churchyard  is  still  nearer. 

BURR 

Pooh !     You  can't    fright    me   with   your   scarebugs. 

I'm   going    to    be    cremated.     That's   real   ashes   to 

ashes. 

STEPHEN 
Very  sensible. 

BURR 

Yes — and  dodges  your  hell,  Parson. 

STEPHEN 

How  do  you  know  what  my  hell  is  ?     You  never  come 

to  church. 

BURR 

But  I  know  what  Squire's  hell  is — for  he  tells  me  to 
go  there.  And  yours  can't  be  so  different  or  you'd 
lose  the  living. 

STEPHEN  {Wi7icing'\ 

Have  you  come  to  talk  about  my  hell  ? 

BURR 

No  offence.  Parson — we've  all  got  to  live.  What 
50 


I've  come  for  is  to  see  if  you  believe  in  your  own 
sermons. 

STEPHEN  [Rather  alarmed]^ 
If  I  believe ? 

BURR 

In  coals  of  fire.  No,  no,  not  hell  this  time.  I  want 
to  see  if  you'll  put  'em  on  my  head  in  a  manner  of 
speaking — if  you'll  plead  for  me  with  the  Squire. 

STEPHEN 

Plead  for  you  ?     What  about  ? 

BURR 

Yesterday,  being  Michaelmas  Day,  danged  if  his 
baily  didn't  give  me  notice.  Me  whose  faithers  have 
been  on  the  farm  before  the  Rowleys  were  in  the 
county  at  all. 

STEPHEN 

Then  surely  youVe  got  a  lease  ? 

BURR 

No.  Us  had  a  yearly  tenancy,  and  the  longer  it 
ran  the  more  solid  it  seemed  !  Oh,  it's  cruel  hard  ! 
And  the  farm  and  the  bit  of  river  with  its  poplars 
and  ellums  all  twisted  round  my  heart  in  a  manner  of 
speaking  ! 

STEPHEN 

Can't  you  offer  more  rent  ? 

51 


BURR 

It  bain't  more  rent  he  wants,  it's  more  religion.  Plague- 
spot  he  calls  me.  Which  I  am  in  a  manner  of  speaking 
— and  proud  of  it. 

STEPHEN 

Well,  why  not  keep  your  pride  ?  There's  much 
better  land  in  the  next  county. 

BURR 

I  don't  want  to  go  to  foreign  parts,  with  their  new- 
fangled machines. 

STEPHEN 

Ha  !     As  conservative  in  farming  as  you  are  radical  in 

religion. 

BURR 

I  bain't  conservative — I  sold  my  bees  for  silver  and 
now  my  missus  will  have  it  that  that's  what  brought 
all  the  ill-luck. 

STEPHEN 

Ah,  Mrs.  Burr  told  me  your  sheep  didn't  do  well. 

BURR 

Rotted  away,  half  of  'em.  And  then  folk  go  yowling 
hymns.  When  Joanna  talks  to  7ne  of  Providence, 
1  say  "  Rot."  [Laughs  bitterly.']     Ha  !    Ha  !    Ha  ! 

STEPHEN  [Quietly] 

And  yet   is   there  anything   more   providential   than 

sheep-rot  ? 

52 


BURR 

Providential,  Parson  ? 

STEPHEN  [Smiling] 

In  a  manner  of  speaking.     One  man's  meat  is  another 

man's  poison,  and  your  sheep's  rot  is  the  liver-fluke's 

riot. 

BURR 

The  liver-fluke  ? 

STEPHEN 

That's  tlie  parasite  that  makes  the  rot.  A  tiny,  hairy 
thing  I've  had  under  that  glass  there  !  It  swims 
about  in  your  pond  and  its  only  chance  of  life  is  to 
wriggle  inside  the  lung  of  a  fresh-water  snail. 

BURR 

What's  the  snail  to  do  with  my  sheep  ? 

STEPHEN 

Wait  !  If  the  fluke  gets  inside  the  snail's  lung  it 
settles  down  and  has  a  family,  and  the  youngsters 
move  over  into  the  snail's  liver.  There  they  live 
happily  many  generations  till  one  day  they  produce 
a  long-tailed  filibuster  which  emigrates  out  of  the 
snail  and  swims  back  into  the  grass  at  the  edge  of  the 
pond.  Your  poor  sheep  eats  that  grass  and  the  canny 
fluke  founds  a  great  colony  in  its  liver — and  that's 
what  you  call  rot. 

BURR 

And  so  it  is !  All  that  to  kill  my  sheep  !  .  .  .  Then 
53 


*tis  a  devil  that  runs  the  world  in  a  manner  of  speaking 
— a  great  spider  devil. 

[The  hymn  has  stopped.     The  organ  begins  a  little 

voluntary.] 

STEPHEN  [Rising  solemnly] 

Spider  or  devil,  it  spins  so  wonderfully,  Farmer  Burr, 
with  all  Time  for  its  woof  and  all  Space  for  its  warp — 
its  web  is  so  boundless,  so  majestic,  so  mysterious, 
stretched  from  star  to  star  through  the  infinities, 
that  reverence  becomes  us  better  than  criticism. 

[Organ  stops.] 
BURR  [Doggedly] 

Well,  /  call  it  rot.  A  sheep  has  more  rights  than  an 
insect. 

STEPHEN 

Why  ?  God's  universe  is  a  democracy.  Physically 
man  himself  counts  no  more  than  the  flea  which 
infects  him  with  the  plague  it  sucks  from  rats. 

BURR 

Then  there  bainU  no  God's  universe. 

SQUIRE  [Reappearing] 
That  scabby  sheep  still  here  ? 

BURR  [Incensed] 

Plague-spot,  if  you  like,  but  not 

[Lifts  his  clenched  fist.] 
SQUIRE 

Put  down  your  hand,  or,  by  Gad,  I'll  have  you  arrested 
for  contempt  of  court. 
5+ 


BURR 

This  bain't  a  court. 

SQUIRE 

But  I'm  a  magistrate  ! 

STEPHEN 

This  is  hardly  the  way,  Farmer,  to  get  concessions. 

SQUIRE 

He  thinks  because  he  can  insult  the  Almighty  with 
impunity,  he  can  defy  vie  ! 

STEPHEN 

Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Rowley,  it  would  be  more 
Christian  to  be  as  patient  with  him  as  the  Almighty 
is  ?     Let  him  stay  on  his  farm. 

SQUIRE 

And  infect  all  your  flock  ? 

STEPHEN 

Your  Christianity  might  disinfect  him. 

SQUIRE 

Fiddlesticks  .  .  .     Humph  !     Look  here,  Farmer  ! 

BURR 

I'm  looking. 

SQUIRE 

You  come  to  the  Harvest  Service  to-night,  and  I'll 

take  back  my  notice. 

55 


BURR  i 

I'll  see  you  damned  first !  ; 

SQUIRE  [To  Parson]  \ 

What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  i 

STEPHEN  [Faintly  smiling]  ' 

Sounds  Christian  enough.  < 

i 

SQUIRE  [Deafly]  \ 

Eh  ?     Not  Christian  enough  ?  Humph  !     Well,  you         ' 
come  to  the  service  and  I'll  give  you  a  seven  years'         i 

lease.  j 

BURR  I 
No! 

SQUIRE  I 
Fourteen  ! 

BURR 
No! 

SQUIRE  I 

Twenty-one !  i 

BURR  ' 

No!  ' 

^ 

SQUIRE  ! 
Then  go  to  hell ! 


BURR  [To  parson] 
What  do  you  say  to  that  P 

STEPHEN 

I  say  you're  a  real  Christian. 

[Holds  out  hand."] 
BURR  [Smacks  it  away] 

I  can  stand  being  called  a  plague-spot,  but  damned  if 
I'll  be  called  a  Christian  ! 

[Clap  on  high  hat  and  exit  r.  hy  casement.] 
SQUIRE 
What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  calling  him  a  Christian  ? 

STEPHEN 

I  didn't  say  a  Christian — I  said  a  real  Christian,  a 

man  who  gives  up  everything  for  his  ideal. 

SQUIRE 

Ideal  ?  Damn  it  all,  Mr.  Parson,  if  you  had  talked 
like  that  when  your  father-in-law  came  a-begging  for 
this  living 

STEPHEN  [Amazed  and  wounded] 
The  Bishop  of  the  Soudan ? 

SQUIRE 

Yes,  sir,  through  my  aunt's  secretary — the  brother  of 

one  of  his  Uganda  underlings. 

STEPHEN 

Uganda  is  not  in  the  Bishop's  diocese 

57 


SQUIRE 

Well,  AshantI — what  the  devil !     At  any  rate,  my  aunt 

Lady  Betty 

MARY  [Screaming  outside  r.] 

Stop  !     [Sound  of  a  body  falling.]     O  my  God  ! 

[Noise  and  babble  of  a  crozvd.'] 
STEPHEN  [Rushing  out  through  casement] 
Mary  !     What's  happened  to  you  ? 

SQUIRE 

That  scabby  sheep  has  been  butting  into  her.     What 
did  I  tell  you  ? 

MARY  [Outside] 

Stand  away — give  him  air. 

STEPHEN  [Outside] 

Get  him  out  of  this  crowd — bring  him  inside.     Keep 

back,  please. 

[Two  adult  members  of  the  choir  carry  in  the 
senseless  farmer  burr  and  place  him  on  the  floor. 
He  is  bareheaded  and  his  huge  watch  hangs  out  by 
its  chain.  Others  of  both  sexes,  including  strange 
ancient  ga-ffers,  gather  round,  the  girls  curtseying  as 
they  catch  sight  of  the  squire,  wilfred,  gazing 
with  open  eyes  at  the  body,  is  in  foreground.] 

SQUIRE 

Farmer  Burr  ! 

MARY 

The  blacksmith  felled  him  with  his  hammer. 
58 


SQUIRE 

Good  God  !  [Touches  farmer  burr's  hair.  His 
fingers  get  dabbled  in  blood.'\     But  this  is  murder  ! 

MARY 

No,  no  !     I  think  he's  only  stunned. 

STEPHEN 

My  wife's  shriek  unnerved  the  stroke. 

MARY 

But  it  v^as  his  hat  that  saved  him.  The  cut  is  not 
deep.  That  cushion  please!  [stephen  brings  it  from 
the  cosy  corner.  She  places  farmer  burr's  head  on  it 
and  unloose?is  his  collar.^     A  glass  of  water. 

[Somebody  runs  r.     wilfred  produces  a  tin  trumpet 

and  begins  blowing?^ 

STEPHEN  {[Jngrily] 
Hush,  Wilfred. 

WILFRED 

I'm  playing  the  Dead  March. 

MARY  [Sweetly] 
No,  no,  petsy. 

WILFRED 

Well,  the  last  trump  then — that'll  wake  him  up. 

MARY 

You  little  cherub  !  You  shall  run  and  get  daddy's 
59 


sticking-plaster.  [Exit  wilfred  door  l.  sophia  with 
great  eyes  of  alarm  comes  hy  door  r.  with  water,  and 
MARY  -puts  it  to  burr's  /z/)J,  then  bathes  his  wound 
with  her  handkerchief,  wilfred  returns  with  plaster.^ 
Thank  you,  darling.     Sophia,  my  smelling-salts  ! 

[sophia  hurries  out  r.     mary  adjusts  -plaster  over 

the  farmer's  cranium.'\ 

SQUIRE  [Fuming] 

But  the  blacksmith — where's  the  policeman  ?     Always 

somewhere  else. 

OAKSHOTT  [Stepping  forward  from  background  with 

his  hammer  as  before,  but  his  face  fanatically  trans- 

figured] 

Oh,   I  haven't  run  away.  ...     I  have  bruised   the 

serpent's  head,  as  Genesis  commands — I    have   done 

the  will  of  God  ! 

STEPHEN  [Furiously] 
Damn  your  theology  ! 

CROWD 

Oh,  oh  !     Parson  swore  ! 

OAKSHOTT  [To  Stephen] 

I  was  just  bringing  back  your  little  lad  for  the  second 

time   when   I    meets   the   swine   coming   out   of   this 

window    in   his    Sunday    togs    and    topper.     "  Oho," 

says  I,  joyed  and  surprised.  "  So  you've  been  to 
60 


make  your  peace  with  God."  "  Peace  with  God," 
he  snorts,  "  it  takes  two  to  make  a  quarrel  and  two 
to  make  a  peace,  and  t'other  party  don't  exist.  If 
he  do,  let  him  prove  it  by  a  thunderbolt  !  " 

CROWD  [Horrified] 
Oh! 

[They  spurn  the  prostrate  body  with  their  feet.] 

MARY  [Fiercely] 

Stand    back,    please,     [sophia    brings   smelling-salts.] 

Thank  you. 

[mary  puts  them  to  farmer  burr's  nose.] 
OAKSHOTT 

And  with  that  he  whips  out  his  watch  and  cries, 
"  Half-past  twelve  !     I  give  t'other  party— 


)> 


BURR  [Opening  eyes] 

Joanna  !  .  .  .     Why,  where  be  \l 

MARY 
Thank  God  I 

STEPHEN 

You're  here — in  my  house. 

BURR  [Rubbing  his  forehead] 

I  feel  fuzzy  .  .  .     Hairy  flukes,  did  you   say,  in  my 

brain-pan  ? 

OAKSHOTT  [Starting forward  with  raised  hammer] 

You  son  of  Belial !  [Agitation  in  crowd.] 

6i 


MARY  [Springing  up] 

Back  !  [His  hammer  falls  slowly  under  her  gaze.] 

BURR  [Sitting  up] 

Ah,  I  mind  me  now.  [Looks  at  his  dragging  watch, 
and  puts  it  in  the  fob  in  the  zuaistband  of  his  trousers.] 
Eli  there  thought  he  was  God. 

STEPHEN 

Yes,  Thor  with  his  hammer. 

SQUIRE 

God  can  do  His  own  work,  Eli  Oakshott.  Think 
yourself  lucky  you've  escaped  the  gallows. 

OAKSHOTT 

I'd  go  to  the  gallows  for  God  any  day. 

SQUIRE 

You'll  have  to  go  to  gaol  for  assault  this  day. 

BURR  [Struggling  to  his  feet] 

And  what  good  will  that  do  me  ?  I  won't  prosecute 
the  village  idiot,  [blacksmith  maizes  menacing  move.] 
And  what  else  be  you  in  a  manner  of  speaking  ? 
There's  always  summat  wanting  in  a  bachelor-man — 
he's  got  no  troubles  so  he  has  to  make  'em.  Where's 
my  hat  ? 

AN  OLD  GAFFER 
Here  it  be  ! 

[Hands  forzuard  the  high  hat,  an  inglorious  wreck, 

with  a  great  gash  in  the  middle.     Titter  of  crowd.] 
62 


BURR  [Surveying  it  ruefully] 

Holey  !  .  .  .  '  Like  the  blacksmith's  Bible. 

SQUIRE 

Silence,  man  !     After  Mrs.  Trame  has 


OAKSHOTT 

I  wish  I'd  bashed  his  brains  out. 

BURR 

You  agree  with  Squire — this  bain't  no  place  for  a 
man  with  brains  ! 

SQUIRE  [To  oakshott] 

You'll  buy  him  a  new  hat  at  least. 

BURR 

I  wouldn't  take  his  hat.  I'll  keep  this  as  a  trophy 
of  Christian  love  in  a  manner  of  speaking — hand  it 
down  to  my  childer's  childer — [Sticks  his  fi?iger 
through  iti  to  keep  it  holey.     Ha  !   Ha  !    Ha  ! 

[Exit,  twirling  it  on  his  finger."] 
SQUIRE 

Get  along,  you  pack  of  idlers.  [Crowd  vanishes  with 
curtseying  and  fulling  of  locks.]  Well,  blacksmith, 
what  are  you  waiting  for  ? 

OAKSHOTT 

For  the  handcuffs.     I  made  'em  myself. 

SQUIRE 

Go  back  to  your  forge. 
63 


OAKSHOTT 

As  you  please.     But  I   tell  you,  Squire,  every  spark 

I  beat  out  will  seem  a  soul  sent  to  hell  through  that 

Satan-serpent. 

[Exit  by  casement.'] 
STEPHEN 
Oh,  this  cursed  theology. 

[Exit  abruptly  into  his  room.] 

SQUIRE 

What's  the  matter  with  your  husband  ? 

MARY 

He —  [Picks   up    cushion  from  floor]   he's  been  over- 
working. 

SQUIRE 

Send  him  out  with  the  guns.     We  begin  to-morrow  on 
the  pheasants  and  my  dogs'll 

MARY 

No,  no,  he  can't  bear  hurting  things. 

[Replaces  cushion.] 
SQUIRE 

Fiddlesticks.     What  did  God  Almighty  make  phea- 
sants for  ? 

WILFRED 

Squire  !  [Pulls  his  coat.] 

SQUIRE 

Yes,  my  lad.  [Patting  his  head.] 

64 


WILFRED 

Why  won't  you  be  happy  xu  heaven  unless  the  cherubs 
curtsey  ? 

SQUIRE  [Reddening] 
Why — what  ? 

MARY  [Blushing,  confused] 

You  silly  boy.  Here — eat  a  banana.  [Hastily.]  And 
then  you  see  my  husband's  eyes  are  not  much  use 
for  shooting. 

SQUIRE 

Well,  he  wants  something  for  his  liver.  [Paternally.] 
Try  squills  [Shakes  her  hand  in  genial  farewell.  At 
window]  or  sarsaparilla.  [^atz/.] 

MARY 

You  naughty  boy  !  And  to  go  again  to  that  forge  ! 
[His  face  gets  distorted?^  No,  don't  cry.  My  petsy 
played  the  organ  beautifully.  [Snatches  him  to  her 
breast.]  Oh,  Wilfred,  promise  me  you  will  always  say 
your  prayers ! 

WILFRED  [Munching  banana] 
Of  course,  mummy. 

MARY 

My  sweetest !     Say  them  now. 

WILFRED  [Mu7iching] 

But  I  said  them  this  morning. 

65  E 


MARY 

Then  say  to-night's  prayers* 

WILFRED  [Munching] 
But  it's  morning. 

MARY 

Oh,  say  them  1 

WILFRED  [In  a  breathless  murjnur] 
Our  Father,  which  art  in  Heaven,  Hallowed  be  thy 
Name.  Thy  kingdom  come.  Thy  will  be  done  in 
earth,  As  it  is  in  Heaven.  Give  us  this  day  our  daily 
bread.  And  forgive  us  our  trespasses,  As  we  forgive 
them  that  trespass  against  us.  And  lead  us  not  into 
temptation  ;  But  deliver  us  from  evil :  For  Thine  is 
the  kingdom,  The  power  and  the  glory,  For  ever  and 
ever [Resumes  banana.] 

MARY  [fVho  has  followed  with  her  lips,  especially 
emphasising  "  tetnptationy^^  ends  with  hifn,  sobbingly] 
Amen  ! 

[Catches  hi?n  up  and  covering  him  zviih  kisses  carries 

hi?n  towards  r.  door.] 

WILFRED  [In  tearful  alarm] 
But  I'm  not  going  to  bed  P 

MARY 

No,  no,  pet — but  your  hair  wants  brushing.     It's  like 

Struwwelpeter's. 
66 


WILFRED  [Jt  exit] 

But  I  won't  say  'em  again  to-night. 

\_Exeunt.  After  a  brief  -pause  door  l.  opens  and 
STEPHEN  peeps  in.  Reassured  he  lets  the  door  dose, 
then  returns  somezuhat  stealthily  with  a  shabby 
kit-bag,  takes  a  book  here  and  there  and  throws 
it  in.] 

STEPHEN 

Ah,  my  spare  glasses  !  [Picks  up  case  from  table, 
then  starts  as  at  a  creaking  door.  Again  reassured,  he 
throws  in  a  little  box.]  Paper  pins  are  always  useful. 
[Peers  around.]     There'' s  my  slippers  ! 

[Picks   them  up   under  a   chair.     Re-enter   mary 

door  R.] 

MARY 

Stephen  !     What  areyoAX  doing  ? 

STEPHEN  [Disconcerted,  slippers  in  hand] 
I  meant  to  spare  you  the  pain  of  parting. 

MARY 

You  are  going  away? 

STEPHEN 

I  can  bear  it  no  longer. 

MARY  [Hysterically] 

You  don't  love  me  ! 
67 


STEPHEN 

You  know  it  isn't  that.     You'll  have  Wilfred  to  love. 

Sell  what  you  like  and  I'll  send  you  all  I  can. 

MARY 

Because  the  blacksmith  struck  Farmer   Burr  !     You 
want  to  pretend  that's  Christianity  ! 

STEPHEN 

It's  one  sort  of  Christianity  ! 

MARY 

Have  /  ever  struck  anybody  with  hammers  ? 

STEPHEN 

Don't  be  childish.     In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  envied  the 

blacksmith. 

MARY 

Envied  him  ? 

STEPHEN 

Dare  /  strike  a  blow  for  God  ? 

MARY 

God  forbid  !  I'd  rather  see  you  struck  down  like 
Farmer  Burr. 

STEPHEN 

Yes,  Mary,  if  I  could  be  struck  down  like  him — in 
defence  of  my  real  belief.  [^Puts  slippers  in  bagJ\ 
A  small  farmer  and  a  blacksmith — and  they  put  me 

to  shame  ! 
68 


MARY 

You  shall  not  go,  \_She  snatches  at  the  hag."] 

STEPHEN 

I  follow  the  Holy  Ghost, 

MARY 

And  break  your  marriage  vow. 

STEPHEN 

No — you  break  that. 

MARY 
I? 

STEPHEN 

Didn't  you  quote  St.  Paul  ? 

MARY  {Wincing\ 

Stephen,   do  you  remember  that  day  in  Madrid — 

the  day  you  bought  me  the  mantilla  I 

STEPHEN 

How  can  I  forget  our  honeymoon  ? 

MARY 

And  now  I  and  the  child  are  nothing  to  you. 

STEPHEN 

"  Unless  a  man  hateth  his  father  and  his  mother ! " 

69 


MARY 

That's  what  our  Lord  said.     But  you  don't  believe  in 
Him. 

STEPHEN 

I  do  more — I  repeat  his  experience,  however  humbly. 
I  see  that  every  reformer  must  repeat  his  Passion. 

MARY 

And  what  about  my  suffering  t 

STEPHEN 

It  is  part  of  the  price. 

MARY 

The  price  of  what  ? 

STEPHEN 

Of  establishing  the  next  religion. 

MARY 

You  establish  the  next  religion  !     You  can't  even  pack 
your  bag.     Look  at  it  ! 

STEPHEN 
Oh,  it'll  do. 

MARY 

One  sock  ;   where's  the  other? 

STEPHEN 

It's  there  somewhere. 
70 


MARY  [Feeling] 

Where  ?     [Pulls  out  a  book.']    What  do  you  want  with 

that  ? 

STEPHEN  [Fretfully] 

My  Pilgrim's  Progress  !    Let  it  be. 

MARY 

Pilgrim'' s  Progress  !  My  crochet-patterns.  [Throws  it 
out  half  in  laughter,,  half  in  tears.  Feeling  further.] 
I  don't  see  that  sock.  [Seriotisly]  Good  heavens  ! 
Your  sponge  has  sopped  your  nightshirt.  [Brings 
shirt  out.]     You  can't  wear  that  ! 

STEPHEN 

Yes,  I  can.     [Takes  it  from  her  and  thrusts  it  back.] 

My  landlady  will  dry  it. 

MARY 

And  who's  she  ? 

STEPHEN 

How  should  I  know  ?     Somebody  in  Bloomsbury,  I 

suppose,  near  the  British  Museum. 

MARY 

That's  all  you're  fit  for — a  museum  !     [Brings  out  the 
tin  trumpet.]     And  that  ought  to  be  exhibited,  too  ! 

STEPHEN 

What's  the  matter  with  my  shoe-horn  ? 

71 


MARY  [Blozos  it  with  a  wan  smile] 
Wilfred's  trumpet.  I  thought  it  was  for  the  next 
religion — to  call  the  faithful  together.  [Throws  it 
aside.]  And  ^^(fr^f'j  the  comb  I  lost  last  Christmas! 
I  suppose  thafs  for  the  Bloomsbury  landlady.  I 
wonder  you  didn't  pack  these  bananas  for  her  table. 
And  where's  your  eye-medicine  I 

STEPHEN  [Sullenly] 
I  forgot  about  tliat. 

MARY 

Packs  Wilfy's  trumpet  and  forgets  his  eyes  !  [Finds 
phial  on  mantel.]  And  who'll  drop  it  in  ?  The 
Bloomsbury  landlady  ?  She'll  have  a  pack  of  more 
paying  lodgers.  [Puts  phial  in  bag.]  You'll  be  lucky 
if  she  doesn't  pour  it  into  your  soup. 

STEPHEN 

Don't  let  us  talk  of  such  trifles. 

MARY  [Hysterically] 
Trifles  ! 

[Pulls  out  wet  sponge  and  goes  to  window  to  squeeze  it.] 

STEPHEN  [Sullenly] 

After  all  I  did  travel  before  I  was  married. 

MARY 

But  I  hope  you  travelled  with  clothes  on  ? 
72 


STEPHEN 
With  clothes  ? 

MARY 

What  are  you  going  to  wear  on  the  journey  ? 

STEPHEN 

But  I've  got  clothes  on. 

MARY 

Yes,  the  livery  of  the  last  religion.  \He  starts  and 
feels  his  coat.']  Are  you  going  to  wear  the  clothes  of 
hypocrisy  ? 

STEPHEN 

I  never  thought  of  that. 

MARY 

What  have  you  thought  of  ?  [Vicious  squeeze  of 
sponge.']  Have  you  thought  of  me  left  alone  with  an 
intoxicated  cook  ? 

\Wrings  sponge.] 

STEPHEN  [Embarrassed] 
I— I 

MARY 

Have  you  thought  of  to-night's  congregation  waiting 

for  their  pastor  ?     [Final  squeeze  of  sponge.]     There  ! 

Dry  and  gritty  and  small — much  better  sometimes. 

[Packs  sponge   in   bag.]     Have   you    thought    of   how 

73 


Pm  to  explain  you've  eloped  with  a  new  religion  ? 
Even  if  you're  a  prophet  you  can  be  a  gentleman  ! 

[Closes  bag  with  vicious  snap  and  gives  it  to  him.] 

STEPHEN  [0?ily  half  taking  it] 
But  what  else  can  I  do  ? 

MARY 

Do  ?     If  you  must  go  away,  let  us  do  it  as  St.  Paul 

teaches — in  a  seemly  and  due  order. 

STEPHEN  [Drops  bag] 

Let  us  do  it  ?     Then  you  will  come  ? 

MARY  [With  a  half-sob] 

I  took  you  for  better  or  worse — for  wiser  or  silHer  ! 

STEPHEN 

My  saint !     My  angel ! 

MARY  [Evading  his  embrace] 

Hush  !     No  played-out  theatrical  words. 

STEPHEN 

You  give  them  fresh  meaning,     [mary  sits  down  at 

table  and  types  rapidly.]    What  are  you  typing  ? 

MARY 

The  text  of  your  harvest  sermon. 

STEPHEN  [Peering  down  curiously] 

"  That  Thou  givest  them  they  gather  :   Thou  openest 

Thine  hand,  they  are  filled  with  good." 

74 


MARY 

Psalm  104.     Won't  that  be  a  splendid  text  ?     Come 

along  now,  dictate  the  heads. 

STEPHEN 

The  heads  ?    [Passes  hand  wearily  over  brow.]    My  head 

is  splitting. 

MARY  [Half  rising] 

Oh,  poor  darling  ;  go  in  and  lie  down. 

[He  moves  towards  l.     As  she  sees  him  safely  passing 

through  his  door  she  drops  into  her  seat.     Click  ! 

Click  /     Click  !     Click  !     Click  I    of  typewriter, 

writing  his  sermon.] 


CURTAIN 


75 


Act  II 

A  November  morning  over  two  years  later.  A  poorly 
Jurnished  room  over  a  tobacconist'' s  shop  in  the 
Whitechapel  Road,  giving  on  a  bedroom  to  the  right 
and  on  a  staircase  to  the  left.  In  the  back  wall 
are  two  windows.,  cheaply  curtained.,  with  a  fireplace 
in  between.  The  grate  is  empty  and  over  the 
mantel  are  china  dogs  and  a  pen  and  ink.  As  the 
curtain  rises.,  a  church  clock  strikes  eleven  and 
STEPHEN  in  shabby  lay  attire  is  discovered  sitting 
disconsolately  with  his  head  on  a  dirty  table-cloth^ 
still  littered  with  the  remains  of  breakfast.  He  has 
grown  an  untrimmed  beard.  The  typewriter  on 
the  floor  near  door  r,  is  the  sole  remainder  and 
reminder  of  the  old  household  goods.  There  is  a 
knock  just  before  the  church  bell  finishes,  of  which 
he  takes  no  notice  ;  it  is  repeated  more  loudly, 
and  MRS.  BURR,  a  buxom,  rosy-faced  woman,  looks 
in  with  a  tray  and  draws  back  a  little  at  the  sight 
of  him. 

STEPHEN 

Oh,  come  in,  Mrs.  Burr. 

MRS.  BURR 

Excuse  me  coming  up  so  terrible  late,  but  there's 
the  Monday  washing,  and  half  the  childer  be  in  bed 
with  colds. 

STEPHEN  [Abstracted,  rubbing  his  hands'] 

Yes,  very  cold. 
76 


MRS.  BURR  [Clearing  table] 

My  man  says  as  we  shall  have  snow,  and  London 
snow,  says  Silas,  be  the  same  colour  as  London  fog. 
Gracious,  but  the  cold's  given  you  an  appetite  ! 
Don't  want  me  to  clear  away  the  breakfast !  Not  even 
a  lump  of  sugar. 

[Shozus  empty  basin.'] 
STEPHEN  [Uneasily] 

Wilfred  must  have  pocketed  them  when  he  went  to 
school.     I  hope  Farmer  Burr's  dyspepsia  is  better. 

MRS.  BURR 

Oh,  it  bain't  Silas's  stomach,  bless  you,  'tis  the  man's 
heart. 

STEPHEN 

His  heart  ?     I  thought 


MRS.  BURR 

Oh,  I  don't  mean  the  heart  as  doctors  thumps  with  a 
telescope :  I  mean  the  heart  as  we  can  only  hear 
from  inside.  Silas's  heart  be  a-pining  for  his  farm  ; 
he  wasn't  brought  up  to  sell  pipes  and  'baccy  in  a 
poky  Whitechapel  shop. 

STEPHEN 

He  would  come  to  London. 

MRS.  BURR 

He's  not  the  only  donkey. 

STEPHEN  [Naively] 
What  do  you  mean  ? 
77 


MRS.  BURR 

Them  as  the  skin  fits  can  wear  it. 

[Goes  to  staircase  door^  clattering  tray!] 
STEPHEN  [Flushing] 
I  strongly  advised  Farmer  Burr  to  take  another  farm. 

MRS.  BURR 

As  if  he'd  give  up  being  near  you  !  Calls  you  Seer 
and  Master,  the  loony,  and  jabbers  about  hairy  flukes 
in  his  liver.  [Of ens  door.] 

STEPHEN 

In  the  sheep's  liver,  you  mean. 

MRS.  BURR 

The  sheep  or  the  donkey's,  what's  the  difference  ? 
First  the  jackass  gets  his  headpiece  cracked  for  braying 
as  there  bain't  no  God,  now  he  keeps  trumpeting 
as  God  be  that  gigantic  the  blacksmith's  God  be  a 
baby  by  comparison.  Poor  Silas !  That  blow  on 
the  brain-pan  was  the  finish  of  him !  [Exit  with 
tray.  During  her  momentary  absence  a  few  flakes  of 
snow  are  seen  through  the  windows  ;  they  very  gradually 
increase.  She  returns  with  a  broom  and  dust-pan.'\  Ah, 
here  be  the  snow.     Shan't  I  light  a  fire  I 

STEPHEN 

No,  no,  it's  quite  warm.  .  .  , 

MRS.  BURR 

And  not  a  single  lump  of  coal  in  the  scuttle. 

[Waving  it.] 
78 


STEPHEN  {Pretending  surprise'] 
Isn't  there  ? 

MRS.  BURR  [Severely] 

I  suppose  Master  Wilfred  pocketed  'em  !  [Sets  down 
scuttle  with  a  bang.]  Oh,  it  bain't  no  use,  Parson.  It 
don't  need  half  an  eye  to  see  what's  happening  and 
I've  got  four  half -eyes.     I  shall  bring  up  some  sausages. 

STEPHEN  [Distressed] 

Nonsense  !     I    forbid    you  !     Mrs.    Trame    will    be 

marketing  on  her  way  home. 

MRS.  BURR 

Oh,  it's  bitter  hard  the  way  us  women  be  dragged 
at  the  heels  of  our  donkeys.  There  was  I,  milking 
my  cows  and  curing  my  bacon,  when  smack  !  jolt  . 
off  goes  the  donkey-cart  to  the  New  Jerusalem  ! 

BURR  [Outside,  below] 

Come  down,  Joanna  !     You'm  disturbing  the  Seer ! 

MRS.  BURR 

Nothing  of  the  sort,  Silas. 

BURR 

What  be  all  that  jaw  about  donkeys  ? 

MRS.  BURR 

And  mayn't  I  talk  about  my  own  husband  ? 
79 


BURR 

Come  down  !     The  Master's  got  holier  things  to  think 
about. 

MRS.  BURR 

You  mind  your  pipes  and  pouches.     If  you  hadn't  sold 

your  bees  for  silver 

[Bangs  door  and  starts  sweeping  viciously. "l 
STEPHEN  [Coughing  at  the  dust] 
I'd  better  go  into  the  bedroom. 

[Exit  by  door  r.,  stumbling  over  the  typewriter  on 

the  floor.] 

MRS.  BURR 

Seery  indeed  !     [Sweeps  still  more  furiously,    A  knock 

comes  at  the  door.]     Be  that  Silas  I 

ANDREWS  [Outside] 
No! 

MRS.  BURR 

Then  come  in  ! 

[Enter  distractedly  Andrews,  a  young  man  with  an 
earnest  intelligent  face.  There  are  a  few  flakes  of 
snow  on  his  neat  black  overcoat^ 

ANDREWS 

I  want  to  see  the  Master. 

MRS.  BURR 

Here's  another  of  'em  !      Excuse  me,  sir,  did  any  one 

hit  you  with  a  hammer  ? 

80 


ANDREWS 
Worse. 

MRS.  BURR 

I  thought  so.  \Szveeps  viciously.'] 

ANDREWS  [Brushing  off  the  few  flakes] 

I'm  Wilfred  Trame's  teacher  at  the  Board   School 

— at  least  I  was. 

STEPHEN  [Reaff earing  at  bedroom  door,  surprised] 
Do  I  hear  Andrews  I 

ANDREWS 
Yes,  Master ! 

STEPHEN 

In  school  hours  ? 

ANDREWS 

I'm  dismissed. 

STEPHEN 

Dismissed  ? 

ANDREWS 

A  month's  salary  in  lieu  of  notice, 

STEPHEN 

My  poor  boy  !  Not  because  of —  ?     [andrews  nods.] 

Oh,  I'm  sorry.  You  shouldn't  have 

8i  ^ 


ANDREWS 

I  had  to,  Master.  The  Holy  Ghost  wouldn't  let  me  rot 
in  cowardice  and  lying.  There  isn't  a  teacher  at 
the  school — no,  not  the  Headmaster  himself — who 
believes  in  the  Fall  of  Man,  and  every  single  one  I've 
lent  your  book  to  agrees  that  the  Rise  of  Man  is  a  far 
better  religion.  But  they  all  lie  low,  and  I'm  left  as 
the  black  sheep. 

STEPHEN  {With  clenched  jist] 

Oh,  it  is  scandalous  the  way  untruth —  [Enter  mary  in 
bonnet  as  from  street,  her  cloak  just  spotted  with  snow.] 
Oh,  Mary,  do  you  hear  this  ?  Andrews  has  been — 
Why  you're  all  snowy  ! 

MARY  [Brushing  her  cloak  with  her  hand] 

It's    nothing,    it's    only    just    started.       What    has 

happened  ? 

STEPHEN 

Andrews  has  been  dismissed  by  people  of  your  religion 
for  professing  ??iine. 

MARY    [To  ANDREWS] 

But  surely  under  the  Code  you  have  liberty  of  con- 
science. 

ANDREWS 

The  School  Managers  pretended  I  fought  in  Victoria 

Park. 

MARY 

And  didn't  you  ? 

82 


STEPHEN 

It  was  to  save  me  from  the  hooligans  who  were  guying 
my  open-air  preaching.     He  got  a  black  eye. 

MARY 

Well,  liberty  to  get  a  black  eye  hardly  suits  a  school 

teacher. 

STEPHEN 

You  defend  them  !     Don't  you  see  that  it  is  all  one 

great  conspiracy  to  bolster  up  their  creed,  a  remorseless 

use  of  every  social  weapon  to  stifle 

[Chokes  with  rage:] 

MRS.  BURR    [Who   since    mary's  entrance  has  been 
sweeping  unobtrusively  at  back] 
Don't  you  stifle,  Parson. 

STEPHEN 

Oh,  it's  too  dreadful.  [To  Andrews]  And  all  because 
you  were  so  kind  to  Wilfred  that  I  sent  you  my 
book. 

ANDREWS 

Don't  worry  about  me.  Master.  Don't  you  always 
say  that  suffering  is  the  price  of  truth?  Well,  I'm 
glad  to  pay  my  share. 

MARY 

And  your  wife  and  child — are  they  glad  to  pay  ? 
[ANDREWS  hangs  his  head.]  Why  did  you  marry  if  you 
wanted  to  fight  the  world  ? 

[STEPHEN  buries  his  face  in  his  hands.] 
83 


MRS.  BURR 

Ay,  that's  what  I  tell  my  zany. 

[Exit  angrily  with  broom  and  dust-fan.'] 

MARY  \To  Andrews] 

But  if  you  promised  not  to  attend  open-air  meetings  ? 

ANDREWS 

They'd  find  some  other  excuse.    You  don't  know  these 
Christians. 

MARY 
I  am  one. 

ANDREWS 

Yes,  one  in  a  thousand.  Oh,  Master  .  .  .  !  [stephen 

does  not  raise  his  head.  To  mary]     Tell  the  Master 

we'll  struggle  through.  We've  got  a  month  to  look 

round.  [Abrupt  exit.] 

STEPHEN  [Groaning] 
My  one  follower. 

MARY 

No,  dear,  there's  Farmer  Burr, 

STEPHEN 

I  don't  count  him.     The  ground  was  ready.     The  old 

religion  was  weeded  out.     After  two  years'  work — one 

follower. 

MARY 

Yes,    dear,    but    two   eyes    still — and    I've   been    so 
afraid 


STEPHEN 

I  know  I've  that  to  be  thankful  for — but  only  to  you. 

If  I  had  had  to  write  out  my  book 

MARY  [Smiling] 

Then  not  even  the  printers  could  have  understood  a 

word  of  "  The  Next  Religion.'* 

STEPHEN 

Laugh  at  me  as  you  like — I  shall  never  forget  your 

goodness  in  typing  what  you  disapproved  of 

MARY  ^ 

It's  not  the  only  book  I've  typed  that  I  disapprove  of. 

The  trouble  is  I  can't  get  more  to  disapprove  of. 

[Drops  dejectedly  into  a  chair.l 
STEPHEN 

What !  They  didn't  give  you  that  socialist  novel 
after  all ! 

MARY 

I  oughtn't  to  have  stood  out  on  Saturday  for  sixpence 
a  thousand  ;  the  moment  I  left  it  was  snapped  up  at 
fivepence  halfpenny. 

STEPHEN 

How  horrible  !    The  labour  market  is  a  jungle  of  wild 

beasts. 

MARY 

I've  often  explained  to  you,  dear,  that  typing  is  a 

job  poor  gentlewomen  can  do  in  their  spare  time.     I've 

been  a  blackleg  myself.  [Rises.] 

85 


STEPHEN 

Where  are  you  going  ? 

MARY 

I  must  pawn  this  cloak. 

STEPHEN  [Horrified] 
With  winter  on  us  ? 

MARY 

What  else  is  left  ?  Wilfy  must  find  something  to  eat 
when  he  comes  home  from  that  horrid  school.  I  was 
hoping  the  second  post  would  have  brought  you  the 
publisher's  account.  There's  the  typewriter — but  we 
must  keep  that  to  the  last.  [Feels  cloak.']  Yes,  this 
cloak  will  cover  a  multitude  of  meals. 

STEPHEN 
No  !  No  ! 

MARY  [With  forced  smile] 

What  do  you  know  of  pawnbrokers'  prices  ?      Why, 

we  shall  gorge  on  this  for  days — like  great  nioths.      I 

only  wish  I  had  pledged  it  last  week   instead  of  the 

mantilla. 

STEPHEN 

I'm  glad  you  didn't. 

MARY  [Coming  to  him  and  stroking  his  face] 

Silly  Stephen  !     Growing  a   beard  hasn't   made  you 

any  wiser.  Will  you  never  understand  that  the 
86 


mantilla  you  gave  me  on  our  honeymoon  warms  me 
more  than  all  the  cloaks  in —  Your  teeth  are  chatter- 
ing— let  me  wrap  it  round  you. 

STEPHEN 

No  !  [Fending  her  off]  I  am  aflame — aflame  with 
^nger  against  the  world — publisher,  public,  and 
reviewers  alike. 

MARY 

There  were  fifteen  thousand  books  published  last 
year,  de^r,  in  England  alone. 

STEPHEN 

I  doubt  if  there  were  fifteen — real  books  I  mean.  But  I 
was  blind  and  fooHsh  to  use  up  our  money  in  paying 
the  publisher  to  publish  mine — why  did  you  let  me  ? 

MARY 

You  would  have  gone  melancholy  mad  if  I  hadn't. 
But  there  must  be  some  sales. 

STEPHEN 

If  only  I  could  get  the  account  out  of  the  publisher ; 
even  my  threats  of  legal  proceedings  produce,  you 
see,  no  reply. 

[J  knock  at  the  door.] 

MARY 

Come  in  ! 

[Enter  farmer  burr  with  a  letter.] 
BURR 

An  express  letter,  Master !     I  signed  for  it. 
87 


STEPHEN  [Taking  it] 

Thank  you  !     My  publisher  !  !  [Opening  it.] 

MARY  [Smiling  joyously] 
Talk  of  the  devil ! 

BURR 

Excuse  me  not  bringing  it  up  on  a  tea-tray,  but 
Joanna's  in  a  tantrum. 

MARY  [Her  eyes  eagerly  on  the  letter] 
What  has  the  tantrum  to  do  with  the  tray  ? 

BURR 

Well,  the  trays  be  in  the  kitchen,  and  so  be  Joanna. 
She's  frying  sausages  like  Old  Scratch — in  a  manner  of 
speaking.     Any  answer,  Master  \ 

STEPHEN  [With  ecstatic  face] 
No,  thank  you.     Mary,  read  this  ! 

[Exit  FARMER  BURR.] 

MARY  [Reading] 

"  John  Skewton,  in  account  with  Stephen  Trame,  Esq. 

'  The  Next  Religion.'     Printed  looo  cop— 


5) 


STEPHEN  [Eagerly  interrupting] 

And  none  left  !  !     Truth  will  out,  even  in  England. 

MARY  [Reading] 

*'  Reviewers'  copies,  71,  author's  copies  6,  Royalty  on 

923  copies  at  is.  a  copy,  13  taken  as  12,  £^2.  12s" 
88 


STEPHEN  [Rapturously] 

Oh,  Mary  !     [Takes  her  hand]    We  are  saved  ! 

MARY  [Reading  on  dryly] 

"  Accounts  payable  six  months  after  statement." 

STEPHEN 

What !  [Peers  at  paper.]  Oh,  but  this  is  absurd ! 
I'll  go  to  him  at  once — she'll  surely  advance  me  five 
pounds  out  of  the  hundreds  I  paid  him. 

MARY 

But  you  can't  walk  In  this  weather.  Telephone  to 
him  from  the  post  office. 

STEPHEN 

What  a  good  idea  !  .  .  .     [Feeling  in  pockets.]    Have 

you  got  twopence  ? 

MARY 

Not  a  farthing. 

STEPHEN 

Well,  I  don't  mind  borrowing  of  Farmer  Burr  now. 

[Throws  open  door.] 
MARY 
Wait !     Your  scarf  ! 

[Gets  it  and  wraps  it  round  his  throat!] 

STEPHEN 

Courage,  Mary  ! 

[Exit  excitedly^  forgetting  to  close  door.] 
89 


MARY 

Courage  ?  [Falls  into  a  chair.']  When  only  the 
success  of  an  anti-Christian  book  stands  between  us 
and  starvation.     O  God  ! 

[Repressing  a  sob,  she  rises,  takes  off  her  bonnet,  and 
lifts  the  typewriter  strainingly  on  to  the  table.  The 
sound  0/ Wilfred's  laughter  turns  her  head  towards 
the  open  door  in  surprise.] 

WILFRED  [From  below] 

Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !     Caught  you,  Farmer  Burr  ! 

BURR  [Below] 

No,  no,  Master  Wilfred — put  down  that  snowball ! 

You'll  smash  the  clay  pipes. 

[A  little  clatter  oj  smashing  pipes  is  duly  heard!] 

WILFRED  [Below] 

Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  You  can  send  daddy  the  bill.  \He 
is  heard  running  merrily  up  the  stairs  and  hursts  in, 
an  impetuGtis  schoolboy,  far  better  dressed  than  his 
parents,  with  a  smart  new  overcoat  spotted  with  snow, 
satchel  on  shoulder.]  Isn't  it  jolly,  the  snow  ?  Why, 
where's  daddy  t 

MARY 

Just  gone  out,  dear.     How  is  it  you're  so  early  ? 

WILFRED 

Bonynose — I    mean   the   Headmaster — dismissed  our 

class  ;    we  had  a  new  teacher,  a  smug  who  couldn't 

keep  discipline.     We  all  want  Boggles  back. 

[Throws  off  satchel.] 
90 


MARY 

Boggles  ? 

WILFRED  [PVtth  lofty  superiority] 
Tou  call  him  Andrews. 

[Unbuttons  overcoat.'] 
MARY 

No,  don't  take  that  off — unless  it's  wet.     [Brushes  off 
the  dry  snow.]    You'll  catch  cold. 

WILFRED 

What !     No  fire  ? 

MARY 

We've  been  out. 

WILFRED 

I  call  it  beastly.  And  that  piano  of  ours  is  a  jolly 
long  time  mending  ;  really  there's  nothing  for  a  fellow 
to  come  home /or. 

MARY 

I  wish,  dear,  you  wouldn't  use  those  common  words. 

WILFRED 

Well,  not  even  daddy  to  talk  to — it  does  give  a  chap 
the  'ump. 

MARY 

Hump,  dear.     You  drop  the  "  h,"  and  I  wish  you'd 

drop  the  "  u,  m,  p,"  too. 

91 


WILFRED 

Well,  Bonynose  drops  his  h's — "  'Old  out  your  'and," 

he  screams. 

MARY  [Alarmed] 

The  Headmaster  has  not  been  caning  you  again  ? 

WILFRED 

I  don^t  think.  Why,  he  lets  me  play  the  harmonium 
for  the  hymns.     Will  the  grub  be  ready  soon  ? 

MARY 

Well,  you  see  you're  so  early,  dear.  [Lifts  his  chin.'] 
Why,  you've  cut  your  lip  !  [He  jerks  his  head  away.] 
You've  been  fighting  ! 

WILFRED 

Well,  I  can't  let  the  chaps  say  Boggles  got  the  sack 
through  daddy's  dirty  books. 

[A  knock  at  the  door.] 
MARY 
Yes  ? 

[mrs.   burr  appears  at  door  with    dish    of  fried 

sausages.] 

MRS.  BURR  [Advancing  apologetically] 

Seeing  the  young  gentleman  come  home  before  the 

meal  was  ready,  I  thought  as  a  few  sausages 

MARY  [Taken  aback] 

It's  very  kind  of  you,  Mrs.  Burr,  but 

92 


WILFRED  [Alarmed,  fulling  her  dress] 
Oh,  but  sausages  are  scrumptious. 

[farmer  burr  rushes  in  excitedly  and  nearly  over* 

turns  the  dish.] 

MRS.  BURR  [Angrily] 
Gawkim ! 

BURR  [Ignoring  her] 

There's  a  blooming  Bishop  to  see  you  ! 

mary' 

A  blooming ? 


BURR 

Excuse  my  language,  but  'tis  as  weak  as  I  can  make  it 
when  I  see  blackbeetles  in  gaiters. 

MARY  [Faintly  smiling] 

Well,  you  might  have  said  a  blessed  Bishop. 

BURR 

Not  when  I  see  sanctimonious  side-whiskers  riding  in 
carriages. 

MARY 

Side-whiskers  ? 

BURR 

And  a  mothers'  meeting  kind  of  old  lady  with  a  face 

like  a  harvest  moon. 

93 


MARY  [Dazed] 

It  can't  be  my  .  .  .     Mrs.  Burr,  do  you  mind  giving 

Master  Wilfred  the  sausages  in  the  kitchen  ? 

WILFRED 

But  I  want  to  see  the  side-whiskers. 

MRS.    BURR   [Taking   wilfred    by    one   hand   and 

holding  the  dish  in  the  other] 

Well,  it's  side-whiskers  or  sausages — ^you  can't  have 

both. 

WILFRED 

I  did  have  whiskers  once  in  a  sausage. 

MRS.  BURR  [Leading  him  out] 

A    London    sausage,    I'll    go    bail.     [Fiercely]     Silas ! 

You'm  leaving  the  shop  unguarded  ! 

[Exit  with  WILFRED.] 

BURR  [Humorously] 

Good  heavens !     And  a  Bishop  about !     Shall  1  send 

the  blessed  blackbeetle  up  ? 

MARY 

Yes,  but  not  rudely,  please — you  must  call  him  "  my 
lord." 

t 

BURR  [Jocosely] 

My  lord  /  [Exit] 

[mary  hurriedly  tidies  Stephen's  papers,  takes 
Wilfred's  satchel  off  chair  and  puts  it  in  bedroom, 
A  knock  at  the  door.] 

94 


MARY 

Come  in  ! 

[Enter  the  bishop  of  the  soudan,  a  stern  sun- 
brofized  ecclesiastic,  imposing  in  episcopal  costume, 
with  grey  side-whiskers,  and  with  earnest  eyes  that 
redeem  the  narrow  fanatical  forehead.  With  him 
is  his  wife^  mrs.  malling,  a  stout  comfortable  old 
lady  with  a  tawny  round  face,  mary  advances 
half  incredulously  to  meet  them.] 

Father  !     Mother  I     You  in  England  ! 

[Goes  towards  them."] 

BISHOP 

And  you  in  Whitechapel !     [Fends  her  off.]     No  Judas 
kisses  !     First  tell  me,  are  you  still  a  Christian  I 

MARY 

Because  I'm  in  Whitechapel  I 

BISHOP  [Angrily] 
She  prevaricates  1 

MRS.  MALLING 

Now,  now,  petsicums,  you  promised  not  to  bang  the 
tom-tom. 

BISHOP  [More  angrily] 

Who  is  banging  the  tom-tom  ?     I  only  ask  if 

MRS.  MALLING 

The  idea  of  Mary  being  a  heathen  !     How  are  you 

dear  ?     [Kisses  her.]     And  how  is  httle  Wilfred  ? 

95 


MARY 

Wilfred  is  quite  big  now.     He's  in  the — the  dining- 
room.     When  did  you  get  back  from  Africa  ? 

MRS.  MALLING 

Friday. — And  how  delightful  to  see  snow  after  the 
glare  and  the  mosquitoes  ! 

BISHOP  [In  sincere  reproof] 

Always  forgetting,  Claribel,  the  joy  of  salvation. 

MRS.  MALLING 

Tou  see  the  Christians,  /  see  the  crocodiles. 

MARY 

Has  father  been  making  many  Christians  ? 

MRS.  MALLING 

Yes,  and  braving  many  crocodiles.  While  his  clergy 
were  snoring  through  the  hot  season,  he  went  up  a 
backwater  of  the  Niger  into  unexplored  cannibal 
country,  all  alone. 

MARY 

That's  like  my  father  ! 

[She  goes  and  takes  his  hand,  he  strokes  hers  half 
unconsciously.] 

MRS.  MALLING 

Yes,  he  has  practically  won  a  new  territory  for  Christ 

and  the  British  flag. 

96 


BISHOP 

Under  Providence.     Not  that  I  meant  to  enlarge  our 

Empire. 

MRS.  MALLING 

Nor  your  liver.     But  you've  done  both,  I'm  afraid, 

BISHOP 

We  are  in  the  Lord's  hands. 

MRS.  MALLING 

Stuff  and  nonsense.    If  you  had  worn  your  cholera-belt 

and  changed  your  wet  socks 

MARY 

But  he's  looking  all  right, 

MRS.  MALLING 

Yes,  after  the  sea-voyage.  If  we  can  only  stay  here  ! 
Luckily  they're  thinking  of  making  him  a  home  Bishop. 
That  was  why  we  hurried  back. 

BISHOP 

Pardon  me,  Claribel.  That  was  why  you  hurried  back. 
It's  Stephen's  and  Mary's  souls  that  drew  me.  [^Re- 
leases mart's  hands  as  with  stern  remembrance.^  Mary, 
some  two  years  ago  you  wrote  me  you  were  leaving 
Dymthorpe.  Your  husband  was  going  into  journalism 
and  literature. 

MARY 

Yes. 

97  C 


BISHOP 

Pained  as  I  was  to  think  of  his  giving  up  the  Lord's 
work 

MRS.  MALLING 

We  thought  he  might  be  bettering  himself,     [bishop 

glares.]     Well,  the  living  was  very  poor. 

BISHOP 

But  now — what  do  I  find  ?     Scandal,  deceit,  godless- 
ness ! 

MRS.  MALLING 

Impecuniosity  !   ! 

BISHOP 

Blasphemy  !  !  ! 

[Produces  book.] 
MARY 
Stephen's  book  ?     Who  sent  you  that  ? 

BISHOP 

My  publisher — John  Skewton. 

MARY 

John  Skewton  ?     Did  he  publish  your  sermons,  too  ? 

BISHOP 

Handsomely. 

MARY 

How  much  did  you  pay  him  ? 

98 


BISHOP 

Eh  ? 

MRS.  MALLING 

Handsomely,  Mary.     Handsomely. 

BISHOP 

We  are  not  talking  of  sermons  but  of  Stephen  !  My 
son-in-law  !  What  a  tit-bit  for  the  Free-thinkers  to  get 
hold  of ! 

MRS.  MALLING 

Or  his  rivals  for  the  home  bishopric  ! 

BISHOP 

Only  this  morning  Canon  Jenkins,  who  is  a  School 
Manager  in  Whitechapel,  told  me  they  had  sacked  a 
teacher  for  circulating  a  filthy  book  by  an  unfrocked 
clergyman,  called  Trame.  Fortunately  he  did  not 
remember  a  daughter  of  mine  had  married  a  Trame. 

MRS.  MALLING 

Yes,  it's  lucky  we  had  ten  daughters. 

BISHOP 

I  rushed  off  to  John  Skewton — it  was  from  him  I  got 
your  address — and  besought  him  to  suppress  the  book, 
the  nature  of  which  he  could  not  have  realised.  But 
that  wouldn't  be  fair  to  the  author,  he  said,  and  with 
an  obduracy  that  I  did  not  expect  in  a  Churchman  and 
a  subscriber  to  missions,  he  insisted  I  must  buy  up  the 
edition. 
99 


MARY 

So  it  was  you  who  bought  it  up  !     What  for  ? 

BISHOP 

For  a  bonfire,  of  course. 

MARY 

Oh  no,  no — is  that  fair  to  the  author  ?     You  must 
not — you  shall  not 

BISHOP 

Surely  a  bonfire  of  books  is  better  than  a  bonfire  of 

souls 

MRS.  MALLING 

And  its  getting  into  the  hands  of  his  rivals. 

MARY 

But  this  book — it  is  written  with  his  heart's  blood. 

BISHOP 

So,  according  to  tradition,  are  all  contracts  with  the 
Evil  One. 

MARY 

You  don't  understand.     It  is  his  life. 

BISHOP 

You  mean  his  damnation. 

MARY 

No,  no.     Full  of  heresies  as  it  is,  even  blasphemies  if 

lOO 


you  will,  it  is  also  full  of  noble  thoughts.  Christ  will 
yet  redeem  him. 

BISHOP 

Then  you  still  believe  !     Thank  God  ! 

MARY 

Yes,  I  believe.  But  my  husband  too  believes,  though 
it  is  in  some  strange  glacial  God  whose  love  cannot 
overcome  His  law ;  believes,  though  his  belief  is  a 
sword  between  his  soul  and  mine  ;  believes,  though  he 
is  a  voice  crying  in  the  wilderness.  Oh,  father,  you  are 
a  brave  man,  who  have  never  valued  your  life  when 
there  were  souls  to  be  saved,  cannot  you  respect 
another  brave  man,  who  dares  to  preach  here  amid 
street-hooligans  as  you  among  savages  I 

BISHOP 

Respect  an  atheist  ? 

MARY 

He  is  not  an  atheist ! 

BISHOP 

A  man  who  mocks  at  my  Master  ! 

MARY 

He  does  not  mock  at  our  Master. 

BISHOP 

On  every  page. 

lOI 


MARY 

Not  in  a  single  line. 

BISHOP 

You've  read  this  blasphemy  ? 

MARY 
I  wrote  it  ! 

BISHOP  [Overwhelmed] 
You  wrote  it !  ! 

MARY 

On  this  typewriter. 

BISHOP 

On  this !  [Seizes  it  as  if  to  dash  it  down.] 

MRS.  MALLING 

Now,  petsicums,  that's  delicate. 

BISHOP 

I — I —   [Takes  hook  freriziedly.]    Where  is  your  fire  ? 
Why  haven't  you  a  fire  ? 

MARY 

Because  of  Stephen's  belief — ^he  goes  cold  and  hungry  ; 
soon  he  will  have  no  place  to  lay  his  head. 

MRS.  MALLING 

Oh,  Mary,  you  must  come  to  us.     We're  in  our  old 

rooms  off  Piccadilly. 

102 


BISHOP 

Not  with  that  man  ! 

MARY 

I  will  not  come  without  him. 

BISHOP 

But  how  can  I  harbour  him  ?     Think  of  the  scandal. 

MARY 

How  can  I  leave  him  ?     He  is  my  husband. 

BISHOP 

St.  Paul  says     "  Be  ye  not  unequally  yoked  together 
with  unbelievers." 

MARY 

St.  Paul  says :    "  But  the  greatest  of  these  is  Charity." 
His  eyes  are  failing — who  will  look  after  him  f 

MRS.  MALLING 
Oh,  poor  Stephen ! 

BISHOP 

Let  him  throw  himself  upon  the  Bosom  that  bled  for 
him — let  him  recant  his  blasphemies. 

MARY 

They  are  too  new.     You  must  give  him  time. 

BISHOP 

Then  do  you  expect  me,  a  Bishop,  to  consort  publicly 

with  sinners  ? 
103 


MARY 

Your  Master  did. 

BISHOP 

My  Master  said  :  "  I  came  not  to  send  peace  but  a 
sword."     We  are  here  to  fight  Satan  not  to  feed  him. 

MARY 

Who  asks  for  your  food  ?     Pd  sooner  starve.     Oh,  I 

hadn't  reahsed  what  your  sort  of  Christianity 

[STEPHEN  abruptly  opens  door  and  enters — his  scarf 
has  worked  up  uncouthly  round  his  neck.'\ 

STEPHEN 

My  poor  Mary  !     The  pubhsher  is  in  Paris. 

MARY 

He's  a  liar.     My  father  saw  him  this  morning. 

STEPHEN  [Amazed] 

Your  father  ?     [Peering.]     Oh,  ah,  ah — I  wondered  at 

the  carriage  !  .  .  .  How  do  you  do  ? 

[Extends  hand.] 
BISHOP  [Ignoring  it  and  producing  book] 
What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself,  sir  ? 

MRS.  MALLING    [Seizing   and  shaking   Stephen's 

hand] 
There  !     Don't  get  angry,  Stephen  ! 

BISHOP 

Don't  call  him  by  his  Christian  name.     He  has  dis- 
honoured it — and  us. 
104 


STEPHEN 

Ah,  so  that's  what's  brought  you. 

BISHOP 

Yes,  sir,  that's  what's  brought  us.  [Thumps  the  hook.] 
"  The  Next  Religion,"  forsooth  !  You,  the  nurseHng 
of  Christ's  Hospital,  the  pet  pupil,  have  the  blas- 
phemous audacity  to  teach  the  next  religion. 

STEPHEN 

And  pray,  my  lord,  what  are  you  teaching  in  Africa  ? 

BISHOP 

The  Gospel,  sir,  of  course. 

STEPHEN 

Well,  isn'.t  that  the  next  religion — in  Africa  ? 

BISHOP 

1  sincerely  hope  so — though  these  miserable  Moham- 
medan missionaries  are  fighting  every  inch  of  the 
ground.  And  they  got  in  a  thousand  years  ahead 
of 

MARY 

You  miss  Stephen's  point,  father.  He  means  why 
should  he  not  missionarise  here  as  you  do  in  Africa  I 

BISHOP 

What  !     Are  we  savages  ? 

105 


STEPHEN 

Yes,  my  lord  !  Precisely  what  you  are  in  my  eyes.  As 
sunk  in  superstitions,  in  fetishes  and  taboos  as  the 
blackest  African. 

BISHOP  [Smiling  loftily'] 
At  least  we're  not  cannibals. 

STEPHEN 

Not  in  the  flesh — Pm  not  so  sure  as  to  the  spirit. 

MARY 

This  is  nonsense,  Stephen.     Let  me  fix  your  scarf. 

STEPHEN 

I'm  too  hot.  [Pulls  it  off  and  throws  it  down.]  Your 
father  ought  to  know  that  the  cannibals  of  his  diocese 
only  eat  human  flesh  to  acquire  the  virtues  of  the 
victim  ;  it's  not  a  mere  meal,  it's  a  sacrament — as 
solemn  to  them  as 


MARY 

Oh  hush,  Stephen 

BISHOP 

You  dare  suggest- 


STEPHEN 

Your  own  black  proselyte,  the  Director  of  the  Niger 

Delta  Mission,  confessed  at  the  Congress  of  Races  here 

in  London  how  uneasy  he  feels  when  he  has  to  say  to 

converted  cannibals  :    "  Take,  eat,  this  is  My  body  !  '* 

io6 


BISHOP 

Tell  that  to  the  Roman  idolaters — you  know  very  well 
that  our  Twenty-Eighth  Article 

STEPHEN 

Yes,  Tweedledum  and  Tweedledee. 

BISHOP 

Oh,  this  is  too  horrible.  While  we  sweat  and  fever  in 
the  tropics  to  wrestle  with  Islam  and  iniquity,  infidelity 
ramps  and  rages  at  home. 

MARY 

Then  why  don't  you  stay  at  home,  father  ? 

MRS.  MALLING 

That's  what  /  say,  Mary — cholera,  crocodiles,  white 
ants [Grumbles  on.] 

BISHOP 

There  are  three  hundred  millions  in  Africa,  Mary, 
perishing  for  want  of  light.  Three  hundred  millions. 
The  number  weighs  on  me  as  I  go  to  sleep,  and  when 
I  open  my  eyes,  my  lips  murmur,  "  Three  hundred 
millions." 

MARY 

Well,  father,  three  millions  is  more  than  any  one  man 

can  convert — and  that  number  of  heathens  you'll  find 

easily  enough   in  England.     The  sights  one  sees  in 

Whitechapel  alone  ! 
107 


STEPHEN 
Or  Piccadilly. 

BISHOP 

I  know,  Mary,  that  the  devil  does  not  neglect  England. 
It  is  thoughts  like  these,  Claribel,  that  reconcile  me  to 
the  home  bishopric.  But  wherever  the  Lord  calls  His 
servant  I  will  go. 

MRS.  MALLING 

Well,  I  hope  the  Lord  will  call  you  where  /  can  get 

servants. 

MARY 

Servants,  mother  ?  With  all  those  millions  of  tame 
natives  ? 

MRS.  MALLING 

Your  father  won't  have  one  in  the  house. 

BISHOP 

Don't  make  me  out  a  tyrant !     You  know  they're  all 

thieves  and  liars. 

MRS.  MALLING 

Yes,  I  don't  know  which  are  worse — the  Christians  or 

the  crocodiles. 

STEPHEN 

Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !   Ha  ! 

BISHOP  [In  dignified  rebuke] 

To  me,  sir,  that  seems  a  sad  state  of  things. 

io8 


STEPHEN 

And  to  me,  my  lord,  a  mad  one.     You  make  millions  of 
Christians  and  they're  all  thieves  and  liars. 

BISHOP 

We — we — ^we  can't  raise  them  in  one  generation. 

STEPHEN  [Vehemently] 

No,   but  we  can  lower   them.     That's  what  we  do. 

Destroy  all  their  race-pride  and  traditions  and  local 

loyalties  and  moral  standards,  corrupt  their  physique 

with  gin  and  their  innocence  with  clothes,  and  teach 

them  to  call  the  whole  past  of  their  people  "  debbil- 

debbil." 

BISHOP 

It  is  debbil-debbil — and  our  Lord  died  to  save  them 
from  it. 

STEPHEN 

Well,  it  has  taken  nineteen  hundred  years  for  the  news 
to  reach  them. 

BISHOP 

The  more  reason  then  we  should  speed  up  salvation. 

MARY 

Father,  you  don't  mean  that  ail  the  generations  in 

between  were  lost  ! 

BISHOP 

If  they  were  saved,  where  would  be  the  need  of  us  ? 

109 


STEPHEN 
Hear,  hear  ! 

ATARY 

But  how  could  they  believe  ?     They  were  ignorant ! 

BISHOP 

Ignorance  is  no  excuse. 

STEPHEN 

It  is  the  only  one  I  can  allow  you.  And  for  spreading 
such  libels  on  the  universe  you  are  the  hero  of  the 
collecting-box.  And  every  cottage  home  in  England 
has  its  little  bookshelf  stuffed  full  of  you  and  your 
likes.  The  grotesque  vanity  of  it  !  These  village  brains 
exporting  their  narrow  creed  to  save  the  world. 

BISHOP 

Come,  Claribel.     Ephraim  is  joined  to  idols. 

MRS.  MALLING 

But  I  want  to  see  Wilfred. 

BISHOP 

Let  them  alone,  I  say.     They  are  dead  to  us. 

MRS.  MALLING 
Don't  be  silly,  petsicums. 

BISHOP  [Thunderously] 
Woman,  hold  your  peace  ! 
no 


MRS.  MALLING 

Now  he's  going  up  the  Niger.     Nobody  can  hold  him 
now.     I'll  come  to-morrow. 

BISHOP 

You  will  not  come  to-morrow, 

MRS.  MALLING 

Don't  bang  your  tom-toms  at  me. 

BISHOP 

I  forbid  it !  [Opens  door.] 

MARY 

Go,  mother,  and  I  won't  let  you  in  to-morrow.     You 
shan't  quarrel  on  my  account. 

BISHOP 

I'm  not  quarrelling.     I'm  commanding. 

MRS.  MALLING 

Hoity-toity  !     I'm  not  your  chaplain.     I  wish  I  hadn't 

ordered  my  Court  gown  ! 

BISHOP 

You  mean  you  won't  go  with  me  to  my  sovereign  ? 

MRS.  MALLING 

I  mean  I  could  have  sent  Mary  a  cheque. 
Ill 


BISHOP       r  [Speaking  \  You  shall  do  nothing  of 

STEPHEN  -         all         \  We  are  not  beggars 

MARY  \  together']   J  Oh  no,  mother,  you 

[farmer  burr  af -pears  at  the  open  door.     He  carries 

a  hat-box.] 

BURR  [Respectfully] 
My  lord ! 

BISHOP 

What's  this  ? 

« 

BURR  [Coming forward^ 

I've  brought  your  lordship  a  trophy  of  Christian  love. 

BISHOP  [Taking  it  wonderingly] 
A  trophy  of  Christian  love  ? 

BURR 

In  a  manner  of  speaking. 

BISHOP  [Drawing  out  the  battered  high  hat,  grows  pale 

with  passion] 
What  do  you  mean,  sir  f     How  dare  you  I 

[Dashes  hat  on  ground.] 
MARY  [Reproachfully] 
Farmer  Burr  ! 

BURR  [Picking  up  hat,  sticking  his  finger  in  hole  and 
twisting  it  round] 
Holey  !     Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  ! 

112 


BISHOP  [Bashing  in  hat-box  with  his  foot'] 

Claribel,  if  you  had  come  at  once,  I  should  not  have 

had  to  keep  this  command  over  my  temper. 

[Drags  her  out  and  bangs  doorJ] 
BURR  [Twirling  hat] 
Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  ! 

MARY 

Hush,  Mr.  Burr,  I  told  you  not  to  be  rude.     That  was 

my  father. 

BURR  [Suddenly  frozen] 

Well,  I'm — blest  !     [Recovering.]     But  you  can't  deny 

this  be  a  trophy  of  Christian  love. 

MARY 

I  do  deny  it — the  blacksmith  was  a  religious  maniac. 

BURR 

That's  what  I  tell  him. 

STEPHEN  [Puzzled] 
You  tell  him  ? 

BURR 

In  my  letters.    [Picks  up  and  straightens  out  the  hat-box.] 

MARY 

You  write  to  Eli  Oakshott  f     Why  ? 

BURR 

To  convert  him,  of  course.     I  sent  him  "  The  Next 

Religion." 

"3  H 


MARY 

You  know  you'll  never  convert  him  and  you  are  very 
silly  to  provoke  him. 

STEPHEN 

And  it  certainly  won't  conduce  to  his  conversion  to 

call  him  a  maniac. 

BURR 

I'm  sorry,  Master.  [Puts  hat  in  boxJ]  But  I  did 
reckon  your  book  would  take  the  flukes  out  of  his 
brain,  in  a  manner  of  speaking. 

MARY 

Nonsense,  Farmer  Burr,  you  will  only  scandalise  the 
village.  I  hope  he  doesn't  answer  you  according  to 
your  folly. 

BURR  [Meekly'[ 

No,  ma'am.  Nothing  but  silly  texts  like  "  Flee  from 
the  wrath  to  come  "  and  "  They  shall  lick  the  dust  like 
a  serpent,"  all  written  in  red  ink. 

MARY 

Let  sleeping  dogs  lie.  And  throw  that  hat  into  the 
dustbin. 

BURR  [Outraged'] 

Into  the  dustbin,  ma'am  ? 

MARY 

That's  all  it's  fit  for. 
114 


BURR 

Ashes  to  ashes  and  dust  to  dust.  But  this  hat  be  a 
martyr's  crown  in  a  manner  of  speaking — a  sign  and 
symbol  of  persecution. 

STEPHEN 

The    very    reason    for    the    dustbin.       Let    the    old 

religions  brood  over  the  past — the  next  looks  to  the 

future. 

BURR, 

I  see,  Master.     Then  I'll  give  it  to  your  boy  for  a 

cockshy.     'Twill  save  my  pipes. 

MARY 

Ah  yes,  he  broke  some,  didn't  he  ?  Put  it  down  to  our 
accounts 

BURR 

Oh,  'twas  only  two  churchwardens  crossed.  Look  on 
the  smashed  cross  as  a  sign  and  symbol  of  Christianity 
and  I  can  rejoice  in  the  lad's  being  one  of  us — in  a 
manner  of  speaking. 

MARY 

Oh  no  !  no  !  You  must  not  say  such  things.  And 
never,  please,  do  anything  to  upset  Master  Wilfred's 
faith. 

BURR 

Never  fear,  ma'am,  'tis  for  his  faither  to  do  that. 


STEPHEN  [Uneasily] 

Your  shop  must  be  wanting  you,  surely. 

BURR 

Yes,  Master.  [Takes  out  little  notebook.']  Then  I'll 
mark  you  down  thrippence  for  the  pipes  and  your  lad 
can  stick  the  pieces  in  a  snow-man's  mouth  with  this 
old  goss  [taps  box]  on  top  ! 

MARY 

Thank  you — and  how  much  do  we  owe  you  altogether  ? 

BURR  [Putting  book  away  hurriedly] 
Oh,  it  hain't  the  price  of  a  pedigree  bull ! 

MARY 

But  I'm  sure  you're  needing  it.     I  never  see  many 

customers  in  the  shop. 

BURR  [Shifting  hat-box  uneasily] 
Lots  come  in  for  a  light. 

MARY 

That's  not  business. 


BURR 

It  sometimes  leads  to  it — when  Joanna's  around. 

MARY 

Well,  may  I  ask  how  much  you've  taken  this  morning  ? 

ii6 


BURR 

I — I —  [Tzvirls  hat-hox]  I've  sold  two  pipes. 

MARY 

Yes — as  we've  sold  a  thousand  books.  I'm  afraid  your 
little  savings  won't  last  much  longer. 

BURR 

Oh  well,  the  rent  bain't  due  till  Christmas.  And 
we've  got  to  go  anyway  then. 

MARY 
Go? 

BURR- 

Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  blab — my  tongue  wants  a  sheep- 
dog. [Looks  anxiously  at  Stephen.] 

STEPHEN  [Raising  his  head] 
You've  got  to  go  ? 

BURR 

Well,  you  see,  Master,  it's  the  big  'baccy  firm, 
Sampson  and  Steinberg,  that  stocks  thousands  of  these 
here  little  shops  on  spec,  and  I'm  only  the  agent  in  a 
manner  of  speaking.  And  they  say  I've  got  to  run  a 
'baccy-shop  not  a  book-shop. 

STEPHEN  [Puzzled] 

A  book-shop  ? 
117 


MARY 

You  mean  you  will  display  my  husband's  book  in  your 
window. 

BURR 

It's  my  big  placard  they  object  to  most — "  A  Religion 
Without  Smoke."  You  see,  ma'am,  that  blooming 
Canon  Jenkins — I  mean  that  blessed  Canon  Jenkins — 
went  to  them  and  complained  I  was  spreading  the 
gospel  of  antichrist. 

MARY 

But  aren't  Sampson  and  Steinberg  Jews  f 

BURR 

In  a  manner  of  speaking. 

MARY 

Well,  but  Jews  don't  worship  Christ, 

BURR 

No,  ma'am,  but  they  worships  Christians. 

STEPHEN 

But  why  didn't  you  promise  to  remove  the  book  and 

the  placard  ? 

BURR       . 

Oh,  Master  !  [Exit  in  silent  dignity.'] 

MARY 

Now  you've  ruined  him  too  : 
iiS 


STEPHEN 

He  was  pining  to  get  back  to  the  land,  Mrs.  Burr  says. 

MARY 

But  what  land  has  he  to  get  back  to  ?  Unless  you 
mean  his  grave. 

STEPHEN 

He'd  be  happier  as  a  shepherd. 

MARY. 

His  only  happiness  is  to  be  near  you.  You've  hypno- 
tised what  little  brain  he  has.  [The  windows  shake  in 
the  swelling  storm  and  snowjiakes  drive  fast  quickly.'] 
Oh,  but  what  am  I  babbling  about  when  winter  is 
howHng  at  the  door  ?  What  is  to  become  of  us  all  ? 
Even  our  chance  of  sponging  on  these  poor  people  will 
be  over  at  Christmas.  [She  goes  to  the  door.] 

STEPHEN  [Springing  up] 
You  can't  go  out  in  this  storm. 

MARY 

You  can't  be  without  food.  [Turns  door-handle.] 

STEPHEN  [Catching  hold  of  her  cloak] 

You  shan't  pawn  it — ^you  and  the  boy  must  go  to  your 

father. 

MARY 

How  can  I — after  defying  him  ? 
119 


STEPHEN 

I  defied  him — not  you  ! 

MARY 

Before  you  came — we  Had  a  scene. 

STEPHEN 

You  defended  me  ? 

MARY 

Of  course  not.     But  I  wouldn't  have  him  call  you  an 
atheist. 

STEPHEN 

Dear  Mary — \_1akes  k  r  hand] — you  are  broadening. 

MARY  [Snatching  her  hand  away] 
No,  I  am  not.     It's  father  that  must  have  narrowed — 
cut  off  from  civilised  thought.     He  is  a  hero  and  I 
respect  him — but  I  couldn't  live  with  him. 

STEPHEN 

Well,  some  of  your  sisters  live  in  England. 

MARY 

Only  the  two  who  are  married  to  curates — and  they've 
both  got  large  families. 

STEPHEN 

But  you  could  take  your  typewriter  with  you — work 

must  turn  up. 


1 20 


MARY 

Every  meal  would  be  spiced  with  sniffs  at  my  godless 
spouse — their  food  would  choke  me.  Besides,  what 
would  become  of  you  F 

STEPHEN 
I  shall  manage. 

MARY 

So  you  said  when  you  dragged  us  from  Dymthorpe. 

> 
STEPHEN 
There  are  forty-two  pounds  twelve. 

MARY 

In  six  months — or  six  centuries. 

STEPHEN 

In  either  case  I  shall  be  all  right. 

MARY 

I  have  no  patience  with  you.  One  would  think  you 
believed  in  a  Providence  after  all. 

STEPHEN 

I    believe    in    my    book.     All    those    thousand   seeds 

flowering  ! 

MARY 

Those  thousand  seeds !  Oh,  my  poor  Stephen — flaring 
not  flowering. 

121 


STEPHEN  [Dazed] 
Flaring  ? 

MARY 

Like  stubble — it  was  father  who  bought  them  up  to 
make  a  bonfire. 

STEPHEN  [Tragically] 

What  !  [Pulls  out  publisher's  account.] 

MARY 

He  told  me  so.     Father  never  lies. 

STEPHEN 

But  this  is  worse  than  lying — it  is  criminal. 

MARY 

Surely  the  purchaser  of  a  book  can  do  what  he  likes 

with  it. 

STEPHEN 

No  he  can't.     He  dare  not  destroy  my  work. 

MARY 

There's  always  the  copy  in  the  British  Museum. 

STEPHEN  [Eagerly] 

Yes,  and  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge  !  And  there  were 
seven  copies  sold  on  the  day  of  publication — don't  you 
remember  ?     Your  father  couldn't  have  bought  those, 

122 


MARY 

No,  but  in  all  probability  Farmer  Burr  did. 

STEPHEN 

An  auspicious  omen  !     It's  the  farmer  that  plants  the 

seeds. 

MARY 

He  isn't   a   farmer,   he's   a   tobacconist — it'll  end  in 

smoke — that's    the    real    omen — the    smoke    of    the 

bonfire. 
> 

STEPHEN 

No !  !  Seven  seeds  are  saved  from  the  burning. 
They  will  take  root,  they  will  germinate.  Do  you 
reahse,  Mary,  the  power  of  a  little  seed  ?  To  under- 
mine buildings,  to  throw  off  the  weight  of  earth,  to 
shoot  up  living  branches  towards  the  sky  ?  And  I 
have  seven  seeds  scattered. 

MARY  \_^cepically\ 
What  faith  ! 

STEPHEN 

Yes — that  is  my  faith. 

MARY 

It  seems  to  me  as  insane  as  Eli  Oakshott's. 

STEPHEN 

On   the   contrary,    it   rests   on    reason — on   the  fact 

that  a  spiritual  truth  is  indestructible. 
123 


MARY 

If  yours  is  a  truth. 

STEPHEN 

It  is — by  every  law  of  earth  and  heaven  it  //. 

MARY 

Well,  anyhow,  you^re  not  indestructible. 

STEPHEN 

What  does  that  matter  ? 

MARY 

A  great  deal.     Before  the  seed  has  flowered  you'll  be 

frozen. 

STEPHEN 

What  does  that  matter  ? 

MARY 

And  if  the  seed  never  flowers  ? 

STEPHEN 

It  will  flower.  [The  windows  rattle  again.] 

MARY 

Oh,  my  poor  Stephen  !  [She  goes  to  a  window  that  shows 
only  a  blinding  whirl  of  snozvflakes.]  Look  at  these 
endless  people,  like  white  regiments  marching  and 
counter-marching,  urged  along  by  affairs  that  even  this 
storm  cannot  interrupt ;  look  how  the  snow-crusted 
umbrellas  scurry  and  swirl,  each  covering  a  head  full  of 
124 


its  own  business ;  look  at  the  packed  omnibuses  with 
their  struggling  spotty-white  horses,  the  ugly,  muffled- 
up  crowds  fighting  for  the  tramcars,  the  hurrying, 
jostling  traffic.  And  you  think  that  in  this  mad  rush 
and  roar  there  is  room  for  the  still  small  voice  of 
Stephen  Trame  ! 

STEPHEN 

Yes !  Beneath  all  the  roar  and  rush,  there  is  an 
emptiness,  a  spiritual  hunger.  Their  old  creeds  fade. 
They  must  listen  to  me. 

MARY  *^^ 

I  tell  you,  Stephen,  that  compared  to  you  Eli  Oakshott^ 
is  sane  and  sober.  There  are  moments  when,  coming 
home  heart-sick  from  the  vain  quest  for  work,  I  stand 
at  this  window,  gazing  at  this  grim  street  as  a  little 
bird  gazes  at  the  serpent  that  is  to  swallow  it  up.  In 
those  moments  I  feel  that  we  count  as  Httle  in  this 
great  inexorable  London  as  the  sparrows  that  must 
find  food  or  freeze.  And  in  those  moments  your 
striving  to  alter  the  world's  religion  appears  to  me  so 
puny,  so  pitiful,  so  hopeless,  that  I  cry  over  you  more 
as  over  a  baby  than  a  blasphemer. 

STEPHEN 

Then  it  is  you  who  have  lost  faith,  not  I.     Your 

religion  claims  that  the  very  hairs  of  our  heads  are 

numbered. 

MARY  [Staring  into  vacancy] 

Did  I  ever  have  faith  ?  I  lived  so  sheltered,  so 
125 


#: 


c 

\  protected.     Was  my  faith  more  than  words  ?     Now, 

\when  T  have  lived  for  months  with  the  naked  reahties, 

/with  the  pitiless  earth  and  the  deaf  sky,  fighting  to 

^''^keep  off  hunger  and  cold,  and  seeing  Wilfy  growing 

\    coarser  and  coarser  in  that  dreadful  school,  pray  as  I 

j    will  to  a  Power  above,  I  feel  as  if  only  I — this  frail 

j    body — stood  between  my  boy  and  the  abyss,  and  that 

I    if  my  foot  should  fail,  we  shall  all  go  down  into  that 

\   human    underworld    where    the    sound    of    children 

\  weeping  is  the  worst  horror  of  the  darkness. 

STEPHEN 

You  have  not  really  lost  faith,  Mary — you  are  gaining 
it — faith  in  the  true  Power  that  is  not  only  above  us 
but  in  us  and  around  us,  fulfilling  Its  boundless  Being 
in  that  eternal  and  universal  order  which  is  our  security. 

MARY  [Shivering'] 

Such  a  God  !  A  glacier,  rather.  A  God  who  would 
not  move  a  finger  to  save  me  from  seeking  our  bread  on 
that  street — among  the  other  women. 

STEPHEN 

Hush,  Mary  !     What  a  thought ! 

MARY 

You  are  outraged.  So  was  I  the  first  time  the  thought 
burnt  through  me.  But  one  gets  used  to  strange 
thoughts  when  one  is  at  bay.     And  some  day — who 

knows  ? — when  Wilfy  is  crying  for  bread 

126 


STEPHEN 

For  God's  sake,  Mary,  pull  yourself  together.  Re- 
member you  are  a  Christian. 

MARY 

I  am  a  mother  ! 

STEPHEN 
This  is  madness  ! 

MARY> 

Yes  it  is,  it  is  madness.  The  blacksmith  and  I  are  a 
pair.  And  you — you  make  the  trinity.  We  are  all 
mad  together.  Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Oh,  my  God,  forgive 
these  horrible  thoughts,  these  dreadful  doubts.  Help 
us,  oh,  help  us !  [Falls  on  her  knees.']  Send  us  deliver- 
ance from  these  evil  straits,  grant  us 

STEPHEN 

What  are  you  praying  for  ? 

MARY  [Fiercely'] 
For  bread. 

STEPHEN 

That  is  just  as  mad. 

MARY  [Frenziedly] 

Grant  us  this  day  our  daily  bread — why  is  not  my  faith 

as  sane  as  yours  ? 

127 


STEPHEN 

Because  mine  rests  on  reason  ;  yours  contradicts  it. 
If  bread  could  come  by  prayer,  why  trouble  to  plough  ? 
I  thought  you  were  learning  that  this  is  a  universe  of 
law. 

MARY 

The  Power  that  made  the  law  can  break  it. 

STEPHEN 

That  would  break  up  the  universe.     We  must  have 

stability. 

MARY 

Yes — the  confidence  of  being  in  God's  hands. 

STEPHEN 

God's  hands  uphold  the  law,  not  the  individual. 
What  of  the  sparrows  that  must  find  food  or  freeze  ? 

MARY 

I  blasphemed.  Not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground 
without  our  Father.  [Folds  her  hands  again  in  prayer.'] 
O  Father,  which  art  in  heaven,  look  down  upon  us,  Thy 
suffering  children,  send  us  a  redeemer,  send  us  a 
redeemer 

STRANGER  [Outside,  in  a  great  hearty  voice  with  a 

somewhat  Scotch  accent] 
Thank  you,  I'll  find  my  way. 

[A  masterful  knock  at  the  door,     mary  looks   up 

transfigured.] 
128 


STEPHEN  [Murmuring  to  mary] 
Who's  that  ? 


STRANGER  [Outside] 
Can  I  come  in  ? 


STEPHEN  [Whispering] 

Get  up,  Mary.     [She  remains  dazed  with  ecstasy — he 

helps  her  to  her  feet.]     Yes,  come  in  ! 

[Enter  a  burly  white-haired  presence  in  a  fur  over- 
coat, overflowing  with  geniality  and  the  sense  of 
power.  The  whole  atmosphere  instaritly  changes  to 
sutininess  and  security,  mary  remains  tranced,  not 
speaking  for  some  time.] 

STRANGER  [Inquiringly] 

Mr.  Stephen  Trame,  author  of  "  The  Next  Religion  "  i 

STEPHEN  [Rather  dazed] 
Yes — and  my  wife. 

STRANGER 

Sir  !  Ma'am  !  [Shoots  out  a  hand  to  each.]  This  is 
the  proudest  moment  of  my  life.  [Pumps  at  their 
hands.]  You  see  before  you  a  man  as  free  from  super- 
stition as  his  smelted  iron  from  slag  ;  a  man  absolutely 
without  prejudice — a  man  who  inherited  neither  his 
opinions  nor  his  millions  but  has  made  both  by  the 
sweat  of  his  brow.  Can  you  wonder  if  your  book  fell 
on  me  as  seed  on  fruitful  soil  ? 
129       ^.  z 


STEPHEN  [Still  more  dazed,  murmurs] 

Seed  ? 

[mary's  hajid  drops  the  stranger's  ;   her  ecstasy  is 
shot  with  bewilderment.] 

STRANGER 

Sir,  I  have  the  honour  to  beg  you  to  enrol  me  as  your 
first  disciple  I 

[Pumps  again  at  Stephen's  hand.] 
STEPHEN 
I  fear  I  can't  do  that. 

STRANGER    [Disconcerted,  dropping  his  hand] 
And  why  not  ? 

STEPHEN 

There's  a  farmer  and  a  school-teacher  before  you. 

STRANGER  [Reassured] 

Oh,  that  calibre !  They  don't  count ;  they  can't 
scrap  Christianity  and  limber  up  your  religion  for 
quick  firing,  eh  ? 

STEPHEN 

They  do  their  best. 

STRANGER 

Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  And  their  best  leaves  you  over  a 
Whitechapel  tobacconist's.  No,  sir  !  The  next  reli- 
gion has  got  to  hum,  as  the  Yankees  say.  [Takes  both 
their  hands  again.]  To-night  you  sleep  in  Belgravia, 
the  honoured  guests  of  Sir  Thomas  McFadden. 
130  *■ 


MARY 

Sir  Thomas  McFadden  ? 

SIR  THOMAS 
Yes,  ma'am. 

STEPHEN 

Not  the  inventor  of  guns — ^Hal's  father  ? 

SIR  THOMAS  [Dropping  their  hands'] 
Don't  mention  that  scallawag  ! 

STEPHEN 

Why,  what  has  he  done  f 

SIR  THOMAS 

Done,  sir  ?     Haven't  you  heard  ? 

STEPHEN 

No,  he  never  even  acknowledged  my  book. 

SIR  THOMAS 

I  don't  wonder !  After  the  thousands  I've  spent 
to  make  a  decent  modern  man  of  him  !  Takes  advan- 
tage of  my  absence  in  the  States  to  bring  my  grey 
hairs  in  sorrow  to  the  grave. 

MARY  [Half  to  herself] 

I  felt  something  shifty  about  him. 

STEPHEN 

But  what  has  he  done  ? 

131 


SIR  THOMAS 

He's  become  a  Christian  !  ! 

STEPHEN 

Is  it  possible  ?  .  .  .  But  he  was  always  such  a  sophist. 

SIR  THOMAS 

Oh,  I  knew  that  if  he  married  that  hymn-screeching 
Helen  he  would  be  a  lost  soul.  First  the  cat  gets  him 
to  marry  in  a  church,  then  she  gets  the  baby  baptized, 
and  thenfacilis  descensus — down  he  slides  into  the  pit. 

STEPHEN 

I  think  it  only  fair,  Sir  Thomas,  to  tell  you  that  my 

wife 

MARY 

Oh,  leave  me  out,  flease.  I  agree  with  Sir  Thomas. 
A  man  who  only  becomes  a  Christian  to  please  his  wife 
is  contemptible. 

SIR  THOMAS 

Contemptible  isn't  the  word  for  him,  ma'am.  Every 
Christian  is  that.  But  look  at  the  advantages  Hal  has 
had — the  chance  of  growing  up  as  free  from  prejudice 
as  his  father.  However,  he'll  have  to  pay  dearly  for 
his  pew.     Three  millions. 

MARY  [Puzzled] 
Three  millions  ? 
132 


SIR  THOMAS 

Three  million  pounds,  ma'am.  Fifteen  million  dollars, 
in  Yankee  lingo.  That's  the  fortune  I've  cut  him  out 
of.  And  it  would  have  been  bigger  if  I  hadn't  had 
to  sell  my  guns  to  Christian  Governments  ;  millions 
they've  done  me  out  of.  Ah,  ma'am,  if  I  could  have 
my  life  over  again,  I'd  deal  very  differently,  I  assure 
you. 

STEPHEN 

I  hope  you  wouldn't  make  guns  at  all. 

SIR  THOMAS 

You  bet  your  boots  I  wouldn't  ;  there's  much  more 
money  in  motor-cars.  However,  with  three  millions 
we  can  give  Truth  a  pretty  good  leg-up,  eh  ?  That 
miserable  Popish  Cathedral  in  Westminster  only  cost 
one  million. 

STEPHEN 

But  I  hope  Hal  won't  starve, 

SIR  THOMAS 

Starve  ?  No  such  luck  !  That  Christian  cat  of  his 
has  more  dollars  than  I — Munro's  millinery,  you 
know.  And  now  the  scoundrel  has  started  practising 
his  profession  and  earning  thousands ;  just  to  spite 
me.  However,  /'ve  no  prejudice  against  him — I 
shall  always  be  grateful  to  him  for  sending  me  your 
book,  though  when  the  New  York  Custom  House 
charged  me  a  dollar  on  it,  I  cussed  like  a  Christian. 

[Smiles.'] 
133 


STEPHEN 

Was  it  Hal  sent  it  ? 

SIR  THOMAS 

It  was,  sir.  With  your  inscription  to  him  in  it. 
Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  No  doubt  the  cat  wouldn't  let  him 
have  it  in  the  house.  "  In  return  for  the  shilHng 
you  cut  me  off  with,"  he  added  on  sarcastically.  A 
shilling,  indeed  !  Sir,  as  I  told  your  publisher  just 
now,  when  he  gave  me  your  address,  all  the  Church 
plate  in  the  world  couldn't  pay  for  that  book — though 
I'd  like  to  see  it  all  melted  down.  Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  ! 
[Beams,  and  begins  looking  through  his  pocket-book.']  My 
precious  offspring  little  thought  he  was  sending  me  a 
mission  for  my  declining  years. 

MARY  [Dazedly] 

Do  I  understand.  Sir  Thomas,  you  wish  to  devote 

your  fortune  to  my  husband's  religion  f 

SIR  THOMAS 

A  double-acting  steam-hammer  couldn't  have  hit  the 
rivet  more  precisely.  I've  got  nobody  to  leave  it  to — 
I  can't  take  it  with  me — and  I  want  to  enjoy  seeing  it 
work  before  I  fizzle  out  in  the  crematorium.  /  had 
to  work  for  it — now  let  it  work  for  me.  Ha  !  Ha ! 
Ha! 

MARY 

You  mean,  work  at  remoulding  Christianity  ? 

134 


SIR  THOMAS 

Remoulding,  ma'am  ?  [Searching  in  his  -pockets.']  If 
you'll  come  to  my  blast-furnaces  you'll  see  that  to  run 
into  new  moulds  things  have  got  to  have  some  substance 
to  'em.  [Looking  through  his  pocket-book  again.]  Dear 
me  !     What  can  I  have  done  with  it  ? 

MARY 

Have  you  lost  anything  ? 

SIR  THOMAS 

It  must  have  got  among  my  business  papers.  Will 
you  excuse  me  while  I  look  through  the  hand-bags  in 
my  car  ? 

STEPHEN 

Can't  /  bring  them  up  ?  [Going  politely  to  door.] 

SIR  THOMAS  [Hurrying  in  front  of  him] 

I  couldn't  dream  of  it,  Master.     You  don't  mind  my 

calling  you  Master  ? 

[Exit.] 

MARY  [With  shining  eyes] 

O  Stephen  !     How  happy  you  must  be  ! 

STEPHEN 

Happy  ?     When   the    devil   takes    me  up  to  a  high 

mountain 

MARY  [Murmurs] 

The  devil  ? 

135 


STEPHEN 

And  shows  me  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  ? 

MARY  [Alarmed] 

You  are  not  going  to  refuse  his  millions  ? 

STEPHEN 

How  can  I  accept  them  ?  The  man  doesn't  under- 
stand the  next  religion  one  iota. 

MARY 

How  can  you  say  that  ? 

STEPHEN 

Didn't  you  hear  the  allusion  to  the  Roman  Catholic 
Cathedral  ?  His  only  idea  is  to  build  buildings,  with 
paid  priests  no  doubt,  and  a  ritual  that  will  run  as 
mechanically  as  his  steam-rollers. 

MARY 

But  how  else  can  a  religion ? 


STEPHEN 

And  you  have  typed  my  book  ! 

MARY 

If  /  haven't  understood  it,  how  do  you  expect  tne 

world ? 

STEPHEN 

Haven't  I  devoted  two  chapters  to  show  the  corrup- 
tions that  creep  into  all  religions,  and  another  chapter 
136 


to  show  how  alone  they  can  be  avoided  ?  The  Temple 
must  be  of  the  spirit,  not  built  by  hands ;  even  the 
religion  must  be  more  of  a  groping  than  a  grasping,  it 
can't  be  crystallised  to  suit  a  congregation,  it  must  be 
for  the  individual  soul.  Paid  priests  would  bring  back 
hypocrisy  or — worse  ! — dogmas ;  cast-iron  dogmas  ap- 
propriately blasted  in  Sir  Thomas's  furnaces  and  run 
into  his  moulds.    A  pretty  reform  ! 

MARY 

But  you  believe  something, 

STEPHEN 

Yes — something  flowing,  like  life,  not  fixed — like 
death  :  the  continuous  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
broadening  from  age  to  age  with  the  growth  of  know- 
ledge and  civilisation. 

MARY 

But  even  if  the  faith  is  not  fixed,  the  believers  must  be. 
They  must  be  organised  round  a  centre  and  they  must 
stand  shoulder  to  shoulder,  if  only  against  persecution. 
Think  of  poor  Andrews. 

STEPHEN 

And  who  is  to  guarantee  the  believers  won't  persecute 
in  their  turn  ? 

MARY 

That  is  your  look-out.  Keep  the  Holy  Ghost  alive  in 
them.  But  there  must  be  a  Church  Visible.  Organised, 
137 


too,  they  can  do  some  of  that  swamp-cle-^ning  you  talk 
of.  Single  scavengers  with  brooms  won't  do  much — 
you  want  gangs  and  stcam-dredgere, 

STEPHEN  [Stubbornly] 

Works  can  be  organised,  not  faith. 

MARY 

Then  go  ahead  with  the  works.  And  you  are  responsible 
for  Andrews — ^you  can  give  him  a  post,  save  his  wife 
and  child. 

STEPHEN 

He  wouldn't  want  to  be  saved — at  the  cost  of  the 

religion. 

MARY 

But  he'd  want  your  book  saved — It  would  rise  like  a 
phoenix  from  father's  bonfire.  You  could  publish  tens 
of  thousands  m  every  language,  scatter  your  seeds 
through  the  world. 

STEPHEN 

There's  something  in  that. 

MARY 

And  Andrews  is  a  born  preacher.  You  owe  him  a 
better  pulpit  than  Victoria  Park. 

STEPHEN 

But  /  should  be  the  preacher. 
138 


MARY 

Yes,  but  you  will  want  assistants.  And  there'll  be 
your  Training  College  for  your  clergy. 

STEPHEN  [In  horror] 
Build  up  a  new  priestcraft  ? 

MARY 

You  can't  organise  the  believers  without  a  building, 
and  the  building  must  have  ministers  as  much  as 
charwomen  and  doorkeepers. 

STEPHEN 

Paid  priests  are  the  curse  of  religion.     Every  man  must 

be  his  own  priest. 

MARY 

And  a  pretty  job  the  amateurs  will  malce  of  it.  I  know 
those  sects  with  their  drab  decorations  and  dull  orations. 
Think  of  those  weird  Dissenters  at  Dymthorpe  with 
their  little  tin  chapel — you  never  went  in  or  you'd 
know  what  inspired  greengrocers  are  like.  Surely 
religion  needs  the  noblest  words  and  the  finest  music. 

STEPHEN 

If  the  words  are  true  J 

MARY 

That  is  your  affair.     No,  my  dear  Stephen,  the  fact  is, 
you  haven't  thought  out  the  next  religion  one  bit. 
139 


STEPHEN 

Not  thought  it  out  ?  With  a  book  of  four  hundred 
pages ! 

MARY 

Pure  theory  !  When  it  comes  to  practice  you're  as 
much  a  baby  in  religion  as  in  business.  Because 
institutions  grow  corrupt  if  not  looked  after,  you  cry, 
"  Away  with  institutions  !  "  As  well  say,  "  Away 
with  families — there's  so  much  sickness  it's  healthier 
not  to  be  born." 

STEPHEN 

But  even  granting  institutions  are  unavoidable,  I'm 

not  going  to  found  my  Church  on  guns. 

MARY 

What  finer  foundation  ?  "  And  they  shall  beat  their 
swords  into  ploughshares  " — that's  holy  prophecy. 

STEPHEN 

You're  as  terrible  a  sophist  as  Hal  himself.     But  I'll  be 

no  party  to  disinheriting  him. 

MARY 

He  was  disinherited  before  Sir  Thomas  ever  heard  of 

you. 

STEPHEN 

Anyhow  I  won't  be  backed  by  a  gunmaker. 
140 


MARY 

Weren't  the  Nobel  prizes  founded  by  the  inventor  of 
dynamite  ?  Sir  Thomas  made  guns  as  he'd  make  mow- 
ing machines.  What  would  you  have  him  do  with  his 
money  ?  The  poor  man  perhaps  wishes  to  atone  for 
having  made  man-mowing  machines.  And  you — a 
religious  teacher —  Here  he  comes.  Better  let  me 
arrange  with  him. 

STEPHEN  [Dazed] 
You  ? 

[Enter  sir  thomas,  flourishing  a  cheque  ;  he  hands 

it  to  STEPHEN.] 

SIR  THOMAS 

There,  Master  !     That's  for  the  first  expenses. 

STEPHEN 

Ten  thousand  pounds  !     Oh,  but  this  is  too 


MARY 

Give  it  to  me,  Stephen,  and  I'll  open  an  account  with 
it.  [Takes  it  from  him.]  Oh,  just  sign  it  on  the  back. 
[She  brings  the  fen  and  ink  from  the  mantelpiece  and  he 
signs  dazedly.]  And  how,  Sir  Thomas,  do  you  wish 
this  expended  ? 

SIR  THOMAS 

Well,  what  I  figured  was  half  of  it  for  your  husband's 
first  year's  salary  as  general  organiser 

STEPHEN  [In  horror] 

No!     No! 
141 


SIR  THOMAS  [In  apologetic  misimderstanding] 
Well,   call  it   High  Priest — Pve  no  prejudices.     My 
tongue  fires  off  business  words — that's  all. 

MARY  [Hastily] 

And  the  other  five  thousand  ? 

SIR  THOMAS 

Well,  you  see  I  calculated  that  a  Temple  tip-top 
enough  to  wipe  out  that  shrine  of  superstition  in 
Westminster  would  take  years.  So  while  the  archi- 
tects and  artists  and  painters  and  paperhangers  are 
planning  and  perspiring — and  we'll  get  all  the  eighty- 
ton  talent  in  Europe,  you  bet — I  concluded  we  had 
best  buy  up  an  old  church  or  hall  to  start  our  services 
slap-bang.  I've  got  my  eye  on  a  workmanlike  little 
place  in  a  commanding  position  with  a  ten-year  lease — 
it  was  in  the  Baptist  line  before  but  I'm  a  man  without 
prejudices.  And  if  your  husband  will  come  right  along 
with  me  and  look  at  it 

MARY 

Yes — ^yes — go,  Stephen.  [She  picks  up  his  scarf.] 

SIR  THOMAS  [Intervening] 
Allow  me,  Master. 

[Takes  off  his  fur  coat  and  puts  it  reverently  round 

STEPHEN.] 

STEPHEN  [Resisting] 

But  what  will  you  do  ? 
142 


SIR  THOMAS 

Oh,  there's  always  a  coat  in  the  car.  There  !  Makes 
you  look  twice  the  prophet.  Come  along,  Master, 
good-bye,  Mrs.  Trame — this  is  a  great  day  in  history  ! 

[As  they  near  the  door  it  f-ies  open.] 

WILFRED  [Bursting  in] 
Where's  my  satchel  ? 

SIR  THOMAS  [Catching  him  in  his  arms] 
And  who's  this  ? 

[wiLFRED    hangs  his  head,  surprised   into  bashful 

silence.] 

STEPHEN 

That's  my  little  boj'. 

SIR  THOMAS  [Lifting  up  Wilfred's  chin] 
What  a  bright  little  chap  1     We'll  bring  him  up  to 
follow  his  father  in  the   Temple.     Good-bye,  little 
High  Priest.  [Exeunt  sir  thomas  and  Stephen.] 

MARY  [Hoarsely,  as  the  door  closes] 
No  !    No  !    [She  snatches  wilfred  to  her  breast.]     Oh, 
Wilfy,  what  have  I  done  ?     What  have  I  done  ?     But 
it  was  for  your  sake,  dear,  for  your  sake  and  your 
father's  ! 

[She  bursts  into  a  fit  of  sobbing  over  the  bewildered 

WILFRED  as  the  Curtain  falls.] 


143 


Act  III 

An  October  after?ioon  nearly  ten  years  later.  The 
vestry  of  St.  Thomases  Temple,  a  spacious,  ha^idsome, 
brand-7iezv  room,  with  coloured  windows  in  which 
Mazzini,  Emerson,  and  Swinburne  appear  like 
saints,  and  brand-new  carved  oaken  presses  for  the 
clerical  robes,  and  brand-new  oakeji  chairs,  and  all 
along  the  wall  at  back  a  great  table  completely 
covered  by  a  brand-?iew  richly  dyed  cloth,  reaching 
to  the  ground,  on  which  stand  imlit  many  tall  wax 
candles  in  newly  wrought  golden  candlesticks.  A 
perpetually  lit  taper  burns  before  a  portrait  of  sir 
THOMAS.  There  is  a  door  r.  down  stage,  which  swings 
towards  the  Cathedral  i?i  opening,  and  a  door  l.  in  the 
middle  of  the  wall,  giving  on  the  street  and  swinging 
towards  the  vestry,  but  now  locked  and  bolted. 
SILAS  BURR,  the  Sacristan,  in  an  imposing  gown  of 
blue  with  silver  spots  and  carrying  a  great  staf  of 
office  stands  by  the  table  looking  towards  door  r. 
His  hair  and  beard  are  sprinkled  with  grey  and  his 
face  like  that  of  all  the  characters  bears  marks  of  the 
passage  of  ten  years.  As  the  curtain  rises,  there 
comes  from  the  Temple  the  singing  of  "  Amen — 
Amen — Amen  "  in  long-drawn  fugal  melody  to  the 
accompaniment  of  the  organ,  and  ere  the  last "  Amen^^ 
dies  away  burr  throws  open  door  r.  and  there  enters 
from  the  Temple  a  procession  of  youths  in  golden 
mantles  bearing  palms,  each  youth  alternating  with 
a  maiden  in  white  carrying  Madonna  lilies,  burr 
goes  hack  to  the  great  table  and  the  procession  moves 
across  front  of  stage  to  l.,  then  curves  round  towards 

144 


the  table  and  as  each  memher  -passes  burr,  he  or 
she  gives  him  the  •palms  or  lilies  and  he  lays  them 
between  the  candlesticks  ;  the  procession  then  winds 
rou?id  to  the  door  of  entry  and  goes  out,  the  organ  still 
playing  the  Finale.  At  the  rear  of  the  procession 
enters  Stephen,  now  a  white-bearded  prophetic 
jigure  in  ample  and  flowing  robes  of  creamy  satin, 
with  a  long  train  borne  by  wilfred,  nozv  a  youth  of 
eighteen  or  so,  and  Andrews,  now  in  maturer  man- 
hood. Both  WILFRED  and  Andrews  wear  gold  fillets 
on  their  heads  and  Greek  togas.  These  three  figures 
do  not  curve  round  with  the  procession,  hut  Stephen, 
who  has  now  discarded  spectacles,  being  blind,  leads 
the  way  with  firm  step  to  a  chair  and  sits  on  it. 
Then,  while  wilfred  kneels  by  his  side  lovingly,  and 
he  holds  and  smooths  Wilfred's  hand,  Andrews  goes 
to  a  press  and  gets  a  purple  robe  which  he  brings 
hack  on  his  arm.  By  this  time  the  procession  has 
gone  back  to  the  Temple,  burr  closes  the  door,  and  the 
organ  winds  up  the  Finale. 

WILFRED  [His face  shining  with  enthusiasm"] 
Well,  father,  didn't  the  Dedication  go  splendidly  ? 

STEPHEN 

Thanks  to  your  music,  my  dear  Wilfred. 

ANDREWS 

Oh,  Master,  but  if  you  could  have  seen  it  all ! 

STEPHEN 

I  did  see  it  all,  dear  Andrews,  with  my  inner  eye. 

145  K 


Nay,  I  almost  think  that  being  blind  made  me  realise 
all  the  wonder  and  holiness  of  it  more  than  if  I  had 
been  distracted  hy  the  sight  of  the  ladies'  bonnets  or 
the  men's  neckties.  I  saw  only  the  souls — the  souls 
united  in  the  divine  ecstasy  of  consecrating  this 
Temple  of  the  future. 

BURR 

Ay,  Master,  and  such  thousands  of  souls  and  all  their 
faces  wet  as  you  pronounced  the  Benediction.  Do 
you  know  I  had  to  bolt  yon  door  against  the  crowd  in 
the  street — they  would  have  invaded  the  vestry.  Ah, 
if  only  Eli  Oakshott  could  have  seen  it ! 

WILFRED  [Smiling] 

You've  still  got  the  blacksmith  on  the  brain. 

BURR 

Well,  didn't  he  hammer  himself  on  my  brain,  in  a 
manner  of  speaking  ?  \At  door  r.,  opening  it.]  Shall  I 
tell  you.  Master,  when  the  five  minutes  are  up  ? 

ANDREWS 

Ten  minutes  this  morning,  Burr,  for  the  silent  com- 
munion with  the  Infinite.    We  must  mark  the  day. 

WILFRED 

And  give  father  a  little  time  to  rest  and  meditate  his 

sermon. 

STEPHEN 

My  sermon  needs  no  meditation.  The  True  Immor- 
146 


tality  is  a  theme  that  sets  all  my  blood  aglow.  Ah, 
friend  Burr,  if  only  he  could  have  seen  it  all ! 

BURR 

You  mean  Sir  Thomas. 

\Sighs  as  he  goes  into  the  Temple.'] 

STEPHEN 

Yes,  that  is  the  man  who  should  be  in  all  our  minds 
to-day — our  great  Founder ;  not  a  crack-brained 
blacksmith.  Fortunately  my  memorial  sermon  will 
bring  him  back  to  us  all. 

ANDREWS 

The  name  of  our  Temple  surely  does  that. 

STEPHEN 

Words  grow  so  meaningless.     Thousands  will  talk  of 

St.  Thomas's  with  no  grateful  vision  of  that  large  genial 

figure. 

WILFRED 

Does  that  matter,  father  ?  Why  should  we  want  to 
live  on  in  people's  memories  any  more  than  in  a  future 
world  ?  Enough  that  Sir  Thomas  lives  on  in  all  the 
high  thoughts  and  deeds  inspired  by  this  holy  building. 


STEPFIEN  [Playfully  pinching  his  ear] 

My  successor  anticipates  my  sermon.     Would  he  like 

to  preach  it  instead  of  me  ?    [wilfred  shudders.]  Well, 

you'll  have  to  some  day. 

147 


WILFRED  [Rising] 

Don't,  father.     Andrews  is  waiting  with  your  pulpit 

robe. 

ANDREWS  [Smiling] 

And  it's  rather  large  for  Wilfred. 

STEPHEN  [Smiling] 

And  besides,  Wilfred  will  want  something  more  deco- 
rative. 

WILFRED 

Oh  no,  father.   We  must  keep  to  a  tradition. 

STEPHEN 

I'm  only  jesting.  Really,  Wilfred,  you've  quite  con- 
verted me  to  the  value  of  decoration  and  symbolism. 
[They  slowly  take  off  his  Dedication  robe.]  Changing 
into  my  ordinary  robe  now — like  the  choir  putting 
away  their  palms  and  lilies — how  well  it  symbolises 
the  fact  that  St.  Thomas's  is  now  consecrated  and 
the  plain  everyday  work  must  begin.  Not  to  mention 
that  in  ascending  the  pulpit  I  should  probably  have 
tripped  over  that  train. 

WILFRED  [Js  they  put  the  purple  robe  on  him] 
Hadn't  we  better  lead  you,  in  any  case  ? 

STEPHEN 

Lead   me  ?      When    I   know   every   inch   of   my   new 

Temple  as  though   I    had   never   preached   anywhere 

else  !  How  proudly  and  thankfully  I've  paced  every 
148 


corridor,  every  stairway.  Give  me  the  Consecration 
robe,  I  will  put  it  away  myself.  [Walks  firmly  to  an 
oaken  -press  and  hangs  it  u-p.^   You  see  ! 

ANDREWS 

Then  we  will  leave  you. 

STEPHEN 

Let  Wilfred  stay  with  me. 

[Feels for  Wilfred's  hand  and  holds  it.'\ 

WILFRED    [To  ANDREWS] 

Then  will  you  see  that  the  organist  starts  my  Requiem 
the  moment  father  comes  in  ? 

ANDREWS 

You  mean  "  Rejoice,  the  righteous  cannot  die." 

WILFRED 

Yes — the  prelude  to  his  sermon. 

ANDREWS  [Going  into  the  Temple] 
I'll  arrange  a  signal. 

WILFRED 

Thank  you,  Boggles.  [Exit  Andrews.] 

STEPHEN 

And  thank  you,  my  dear  son.     [Kisses  him.]     Your 

jubilant  music  will  lift  me  to  the  pulpit. 
149 


WILFRED 

Dear  father  !    Now  at  last  your  religion  is  built  on  a 

rock.    This  glorious  Temple  guarantees  permanence. 

STEPHEN 

No.    Tou  guarantee  that. 

WILFRED 

I  sometimes  tremble  at  the  responsibility,  far  off 
though  it  is. 

STEPHEN 

Do  not  tremble.  [Lays  his  hand  on  Wilfred's  head.'] 
I  say  to  you,  as  Moses  said  to  Joshua,  be  strong  and  of 
a  good  courage. 

WILFRED 

But  perhaps  Andrews  would  make  a  stronger  successor. 

STEPHEN  [Uneasily'] 

Andrews  ?    You  don't  think  he  was  jealous  in  saying 

the  robe  was  too  large  for  you  ? 

WILFRED 

Oh  no  !  He's  quite  satisfied  with  his  position  as  head 
of  the  Training  College.  Still  the  robe  would  fit  him 
better. 

STEPHEN 

Well,  you've  time  to  grow — like  our  religion.     You 

won't  be  always  eighteen.    Oh  dear  !      [Siiafs  fingers.] 

150 


WILFRED 

What  is  it  ? 

STEPHEN 

I  left  those  cables  in  my  Consecration  robe. 

WILFRED  [Going  to  the  oaken  press] 

What  do  you  want  with  them  ?   You  can't  read  them. 

STEPHEN 

No,  but  I  can  finger  them  as  I  preach — my  pores  can 
suck  in  their  electric  stimulus.  Ah  !  [Clutches  the 
sheaf  of  cables  from  Wilfred's  hand  as  a  miser  clutches 
bank-Jiotes.]  Think  of  it,  Wilfred.  Hardly  a  capital 
in  civilisation  without  a  branch  or  a  cognate  church 
or  at  least  a  disciple  !  [Cramming  them  into  a  pocket 
of  the  robe.]  Fermentation  everywhere.  Everywhere 
the  old  thought  decays  and  dies,  the  new  is  burgeoning 
and  blossoming.  I  can  only  see  the  start,  you  will  live 
to  see  all  civilisation  under  your  banner. 

WILFRED 

But  am  I  not  rather  the  artist  of  the  movement — the 
banner-weaver,  not  the  banner-bearer  ? 

STEPHEN 

Because  you  show  us  the  holiness  ot  beauty,  cannot 

you  also  show  us  the  beauty  of  holiness  ?   No,  no,  dear 

Wilfred  [Patting  his  head],  I  am  quite  happy  about 

you. 

151 


WILFRED 

And  about  everything,  I  hope. 

STEPHEN 

Well,  you  know  the  one  cloud. 

WILFRED 

You  mean  mother. 

STEPHEN 

I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  thankful  she  joins  in  our  social 
work.  But  her  standing  out  all  these  years  against 
our  religion  is  like  a  deadening  symbol  of  the  forces 
we  have  still  to  subdue.  If  only  she  could  have  been 
here  to-day  ! 

WILFRED 

She  is  here  !  [stephen  starts  convulsively.'\  Oh,  but 
perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  have  spoiled  the  surprise. 

STEPHEN  [Transfigured] 
Here  !   Mother  here  ! 

WILFRED 

Yes,  sitting  just  by  this  door. 

STEPHEN 

But  she  said  she  was  going  to  the  Church  Bazaar. 

WILFRED 

At  the  last  moment  she  came  here, 
152 


STEPHEN  [Depressed  again] 

Ah,  I  understand — to  hear  your  new  music. 

WILFRED 

Not  entirely,  I  think. 

STEPHEN 

Then  it  was  to  see  the  Temple  ! 

WILFRED  [Shaking  his  head] 

As  you  passed  her  just  now,  she  caught  the  end  of 

your  robe  that  I  was  bearing  and  kissed  it. 

STEPHEN 

Wilfred  !    Is  there  some  dazzling  light  here,  or  am  I 

still  blind  ? 

WILFRED 

I  could  read  in  her  face  she  would  have  liked  to  follow 
you  in  but  feared  to  tire  you. 

STEPHEN 

Your  angel-mother  !  As  if  anything  could  quicken 
me  more  than  to  hear  from  her  lips  the  confession  of 
our  faith.    But  no  !   it  cannot  be  true. 

WILFRED  [Opening  door,  whispers  and  beckons] 

Mother  ! 

[mary  glides  in,  her  head  covered  by  a  black  man- 
tilla, and  clasps  wilfred  in  a  swift  loving  embrace.^ 

153 


MARY  [Cooingly] 
My  little  musician  ! 

[She  releases  him  and  he  glides  into  the  Temple.'] 

STEPHEN  [Teaming  towards  her] 

Mary  !    [Opens  arms  gropingly  ;    m\ky  falls  into  them.] 

MARY 
Stephen  ! 

STEPHEN 

Then  it  is  true  ?  You  have  come  to  us  ? 

MARY 

How  could  I  hold  back  any  longer  ? 

STEPHEN  [Releasing  her,  hurt] 

You  mean  because  the  Temple  is  built,  my  faith  made 

visible  in  stone. 

MARY 

Oh,  Stephen,  I  feared  you  would  think  that,  and  it  has 
kept  me  from  you — all  this  newspaper  noise,  this  blare 
and  flare  of  glory.  But  I  nerved  myself  to  face  your 
contempt — I  felt  I  owed  you  the  truth. 

STEPHEN 

Forgive    my    doubting,    dearest — the    truth    was    so 

dazzling. 

MARY 

No,  I  deserve  your  doubt — oh,  why  did  I  not  come 

154 


over  to  you  when  you  were  starving  in  Whitechapel — 
when  you  stood  alone  against  the  world  ?  What  com- 
fort my  conversion  would  have  brought  you  then  ! 
How  shall  I  ever  forgive  myself  ? 

STEPHEN 

Darling,  your  coming  over  to  us  to-day  is  such  a 
consummation,  such  a  climax,  that  I  almost  feel  I 
would  not  have  had  it  earlier.  Oh,  Mary,  to  think 
I  have  converted  you  at  last. 

MARY 

No,  Stephen — it  is  not  you  who  have  converted  me. 

STEPHEN 

Not  /  P    Why,  who  then  ? 

MARY 

Wilfy. 

STEPHEN 
Wilfred  ? 

MARY 

Didn't  you  magnanimously  leave  his  religious  training 

to  me  ? 

STEPHEN 

Because  I  felt  that  the  woman  who  has  all  the  suffering 

in  the  birth  of  a  child  has  the  real  parental  right. 

155 


MARY 

I  know  your  reason,  dear.  Well,  you  have  your  reward. 
Despite  all  my  pious  lessons  and  catechisms,  despite 
all  Wilfy's  church-going,  you  know  how  his  heart 
turned  more  and  more  to  your  teaching. 

STEPHEN 

I  knew  it  was  a  great  grief  to  you,  though  you  said 

nothing. 

MARY 

Yes,  it  was  a  great  grief,  but  it  was  also  one  of  those 
sorrows  that  educate.  For  I  said  to  myself,  if  the 
heart  of  youth  goes  towards  this  religion,  then 
surely  this  religion  is  blessed  of  God  to  be  the  next 
religion,  and  we  that  are  old  and  set  must  cast  off  our 
prejudices,  we  must  try  to  look  through  the  eyes  of 
youth. 

STEPHEN 

Excellently  argued,  dearest.  Yes,  children  train  us 
more  than  we  them,  and  through  Wilfred's  eyes  you 
have  seen  what  these  old  blind  ones  could  not  show 
you. 

MARY 

But  they  are  wonderful  eyes.     [Kisses  them."]     They 

saw  the  young  truth  such  years  and  years  ago.     Oh, 

I  could  go  down  on  my  knees  to  you — I  stood  out 

against  you,  I  fought  you,  I  embittered  you,  perhaps 

it  was  I  who  stole  the  light  from  you. 
156 


STEPHEN 

Hush — never  say  that  !  But  for  you  the  light  would 
have  faded  years  before. 

MARY 

But  I  lived  with  a  king  of  men  and  did  not  know  his 
greatness — I  worried  when  I  should  have  worshipped. 
Oh,  it  was  right  of  you  to  reproach  me  !  Now  that 
the  world  is  at  your  feet,  now  that  your  star  has  risen 
over  mankind,  I  come  fawning  and  grovelling.  [Sijiks 
at  his  feet  J\  But  do  not  cast  me  off — let  me,  too,  call 
you  Master !  [Clings  to  his  kneesJ] 

STEPHEN  [Raising  her] 

Dearest,  dearest,  but  for  you  it  could  all  never  have 

been. 

MARY 

That's  what  I  sometimes  dare  to  tell  myself — it  was 

in  answer  to  7ny  prayer  that  poor  Sir  Thomas  came. 

STEPHEN  [Releasing  her,  more  coldly] 

I  did  not  mean  that.     Our  religion  acknowledges  no 

such  answers  to  prayer. 

MARY 

But  surely  the  answer  did  come — and  it  has  worked 
in  my  mind  that  God  wished  your  religion  to  be. 

STEPHEN 

You  must  hear  my  sermon,  Mary,  you  must  learn  more 

of  your  new  religion. 

157 


MARY  [Humbly] 

Yes,  yes,  I  will  go  back.      [Turns  to  the  Tetnple  door.] 

STEPHEN 

Dear  Mary  [Takes  her  hand  again],  don't  you  see  that 
the  only  prayer  is  work  ?  It  is  just  because  there  is 
no  caprice  in  God's  universe,  just  because  the  hammer 
will  always  hit  the  anvil  if  the  hand  is  steady,  that  our 
Church  can  look  forward  to  beating  our  planet  into 
the  shape  of  our  yearning — a  world  of  purity,  peace, 
and  brotherhood. 

MARY 

I  see,  Master. 

STEPHEN 

Good-bye  for  a  little,  then. 

[He  lays  his  hands  on  her  head  in  silent  blessing.] 

MARY 

Good-bye  .  .  .  [She  goes.  At  the  door  she  turns  with 
a  soh^   And  you  never  noticed  what  I  was  wearing  ! 

STEPHEN 

How  could  I,  dear  ? 

MARY 

Your  hands  were  upon  it. 

STEPHEN 

Do  you  mean  your  mantilla  ? 
158 


MARY  [Comes  nearer] 

Tour  mantilla,  Stephen — the  mantilla  you  bought  me 

in  Madrid — on  our  honeymoon.     [Sadly.]  You  don't 

remember. 

STEPHEN 

Of  course  I  remember. 

MARY  [Eagerly  going  to  him] 

And  you  understand  why  I  put  it  on  to-day  ? 

STEPHEN 

Yes,  dearest,  and  I  kiss  my  saint's  aureole. 

[He  kisses  the  mantilla.] 

MARY  [Smiling  happily] 
Aureoles  are  golden. 

[Enter  burr.] 

STEPHEN  [Pricking  up  his  ears] 
Is  it  time  ? 

BURR 

Nearly,  Master.     But  there's  a  new  worshipper  who 
takes  me  for  the  Infinite,  in  a  manner  of  speaking. 

STEPHEN 

What  do  you  mean  I 

BURR 

Keeps  communing  with  me.    Wants  me  to  bring  him 

to  you.    There's  his  card. 

159 


MARY  [Taking  card  and  reading  it\ 
"  Must     run     away — give     me     one     minute.       Hal 
McFadden,  M.D.,  M.R.C.S.,  &c."      That  dreadful 
man  !     You  must  not  see  him. 

STEPHEN 

The  son  of  our  Founder  !  I  can  hardly  refuse. 

MARY 

Not  now — after  the  service.   He  will  tire  you. 

STEPHEN 

But  suppose  he  too  has  joined  us !    What  a  wonderful 

climax  and  inspiration  ! 

MARY 

If  he  had  joined  us,  why  should  he  be  running  away  ? 

STEPHEN 

Doctors  are  not  their  own  masters.  ...  But  strictly 

for  a  minute,  tell  him,  Burr. 

MARY 

And  then  you  must  rest  a  few  moments — don't  come 
sooner.  Wilfy  shall  summon  you — I'll  tell  him.  And 
meantime  Andrews  can  read  a  Psalm. 

STEPHEN 

No,  no,  not  a  Psalm. 

MARY  [Quietly] 

Psalm  104 — the  one  I  took  a  text  from  for  your  harvest 
160 


sermon.  It  just  suits  our  religion — not  a  word  about 
prayer,  nor  a  future  life. 

STEPHEN 

No  more  there  is !  A  great  cosmic  poem  ! 

MARY  [Smiling] 
And  long,  too. 

STEPHEN  [Smiling  hack] 

Wonderful  woman  !  You've  only  just  joined  us  and 
already  you're  running  the  service.  You'll  soon  be  in 
my  pulpit. 

MARY 

Why  not  ?   Since  you  have  sex-equality  !   [Door  opens  ; 

HAL  appears  with  burr.]     Here  comes  your  friend. 
[She  hozus  to  hal,  who  bows  back,  and  she  goes  out 
with  BURR,  while  hal  comes  forward  and  the  door 
closes.    His  face  has  grown  far  finer  with  maturity  ; 
a  touch  of  grey  in  the  hair  makes  it  almost  spiritual^ 

HAL  [Semi- sarcastic  ally] 
Well,  Stephen  ! 

STEPHEN 

Glad  to  see  you,  Hal — sit  down  ! 

HAL 

No,  thanks — I  must  fly  to  my  wife  ;    I  promised  to 

pick  her  up  at  the  Church  Bazaar  and  take  her  to 

Evensong. 

i6i  I, 


STEPHEN  [Disappointed] 

Ha  !   Then  you  haven't  come  over  to  us  ? 

HAL 

I  ?  God  forbid  !  I  came  out  of  curiosity. 

STEPHEN 

To  see  the  Temple  ? 

HAL 

To  see  what  had  become  of  my  money ! 

STEPHEN 

Ah  yes — I  had  almost  forgotten.   Well — ^you  have  seen. 

HAL 

That's  just  what  I  haven't. 

STEPHEN 

I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand, 

HAL 

Seen  nothing,  I  mean,  to  justify  all  the  trumpeting 
and  squandering. 

STEPHEN 

To  justify  it  ?  Of  course  not.  Not  if  you  really  turned 

Christian. 

HAL 

Oh,  it  isn't  so  much  as  a  Christian  that  I  grumble, 
162 


it's  as  a  man  who  sees  his  millions  wasted — millions 
that  might  have  served  some  great  purpose. 

STEPHEN  [Coldly] 

I  beg  to  think  ours  is  a  great  purpose. 

HAL 

No — only  a  great  mistake.  Unless  to  split  the  Church 
wantonly  be  a  great  purpose. 

STEPHEN  [Angrily] 
Wantonly  ? 

HAL 

A.nd  unjustifiably.  You  have  a  Temple  beautiful 
indeed,  but  not  so  beautiful  as  St.  Paul's  or  the  Abbey. 
I  see  priests  and  choristers,  pomp  and  pageantry,  but 
your  ritual,  like  your  building  and  your  furniture, 
lacks  the  historic  glamour  which  comes  with  centuries 
of  tradition. 

STEPHEN  [Hotly] 
And  the  historic  error  ! 

HAL 

Let  me  finish.  I  see  a  hymn-book,  but  free  as  it  is 
from  the  crudities  which  unfortunately  disfigure  our 
Christian  hymn-book,  your  liturgy  cannot  compare 
with  the  massive  majesty  of  the  Bible. 

STEPHEN 

Now  you  have  caught  yourself  out.  Though  we  draw 
163 


on  all  the  great  writers,  we  preserve  wherever  possible 
the  language  of  the  Bible. 

HAL 

The  less  reason,  then,  for  cutting  away  from  us.  As 
for  your  music 

STEPHEN  [Murmuring] 
Wilfred's  music 

HAL 

Wilfred  is  a  genius,  I  don't  question.  But  even  you 
would  scarcely  class  his  work  with  Bach's  Passion 
music. 

STEPHEN  [Sternly] 

At  least  we  do  not  glorify  the  Passion.  - 

HAL 

You  glorify  self-sacrifice — is  there  so  much  difference  ? 

STEPHEN 

You  can't  be  a  very  orthodox  Christian  if  you  say 

that. 

HAL 

Was  Christ  such  an  orthodox  Christian  ? 

STEPHEN 

I    am    not    talking    of    Christ's    Christianity,  but  of 

Christianity  as  it  really  is  :    your  wife's  Christianity, 

for  example. 

164 


n. 


HAL  [Quietly]  ! 

You  thought  Helen  had  converted  me.  I 

STEPHEN  ; 

So  your  father  understood.  \ 

HAL  I 

My  father  understood  nothing — well,  to  give  the  dead  ] 
their  due,  nothing  but  mechanics.    I  don't  say  Helen 
didn't  influence  me — one  can't  live  with  a  reverential 

nature  like  hers  and  remain  spiritually  untouched —  ! 

but  what  really  turned  me  back  to  the  fatherhood  of  j 

God  was  my  own  experience  of  fatherhood.  | 

I 

STEPHEN  i 

It  was  just  that  experience  that  drove  me  to  the  next  ; 

religion.  ' 

HAL  i 

The  next  religion  ?      Before  we've  worked  out  the  ; 

last  ?    What  have  you  found  more  beautiful  or  uplift-    V 
ing  than  the  words  of  Christ  ?    And  this  religion  has 
the  advantage  of  being -already  organised — it  carries  | 

the  inspiration  and  consecration  of  the  centuries. 

STEPHEN 

And  their  encrustation  of  error  !    And  their  petrifac- 
tions !  , 

HAL  i 

Then  vivify  it,  scour  it,  bring  it  back  to  the  Founder.  \ 

i6s  ! 


Perhaps  Christ's  own  religion  has  never  had  a  chance — 
perhaps  that's  the  next  religion. 

STEPHEN 

I  prefer  Truth,  fresh  and  living,  new-risen  from  the 
well. 

HAL 

New-risen  ?  Oh,  my  dear  Stephen,  what  is  there  new 
that  is  true  ?  Time,  Space,  Life,  Death,  Soul,  Body — 
what  old,  old  mysteries,  what  terrible  brand-new 
realities,  as  strange  under  the  electric  light  as  they  were 
under  the  stars  of  the  ancient  East.  Think  what 
Science  shouted  when  you  and  I  were  at  Oxford,  and 
how  one  dogma  after  another  has  broken  down.  How 
much  is  left  even  of  Darwin  and  Herbert  Spencer  ? 

STEPHEN 

Their  spirit  is  left — the  revelation  of  Science  is  a 
method,  not  a  dogma. 

HAL  [Sneeringly] 

The  revelation  of  Science  !     I,  a  man  of  science,  and 

a  doctor,  tell  you  that  we  know  nothing. 

STEPHEN 

I  don't  wonder  any  longer  you  turned  Christian.    My 

only  wonder  is  you  don't  turn  Catholic. 

HAL 

I  am  not  so  near  Catholicism  as  you  ! 
166 


STEPHEN 
As  I? 

HAL 

These  palms,  lilies,  candles,  canticles- 


STEPHEN 

Things  of  beauty  are  joys  for  ever — and  for  everybody  ! 
Why  should  false  religions  monopolise  them  ? 

HAL       ^ 

Yes,  or  make  a  corner  in  Saints  ?    St.  Thomas  !    Ha  ! 
Ha!   Ha!   .My  blessed  father  ! 

STEPHEN 

I  wanted  it  called  the  Minster  of  the  Holy  Ghost — it 

was  my  congregation  that  wanted  St.  Thomas 

HAL 

Yes — and  one  day  they'll  want  St.  Stephen. 

STEPHEN 

That  I  shall  forbid. 

HAL 

They  will  only  think  you  all  the  greater  Saint. 

STEPHEN 

Even  so  they  will  be  thinking  of  my  life,  not  of  my 

dead  bones  performing  miracles. 
167 


HAL  [Grimly] 

Wait !    You  haven't  died  yet. 

STEPHEN 

Don't  talk  nonsense  !  My  followers  follow  Truth,  not 
me. 

HAL  [Sarcastically'] 

So  you  actually  think  your  triumph  has  been  the 

triumph  of  Truth  ! 

STEPHEN 

Of  what  else  ?    Ah,  you  mean  your  money. 

HAL 

No.  Money  alone  can  do  little.  With  millions  behind 
them  newspapers  and  theatres  fail — so  why  not 
churches  ? 

STEPHEN 

Then  it  zvas  my  vision  of  the  Truth 

HAL 

On  the  contrary.  It  was  your  blindness — ^your  sheer 
physical  blindness. 

STEPHEN    ' 
Eh? 

HAL 

Oh,  I've  watched  your  career.  Your  eloquence  and 
my  money  brought  you  a  decent  crowd.  But  it  wasn't 
i68 


till  you  stood  in  the  pulpit,  blind,  that  you  were 
a  sensation.  That  made  you  a  sort  of  martyr — and 
the  more  you  denounced  Christianity  the  more  you 
illustrated  its  principle  of  suffering  and  self-sacrifice. 

STEPHEN  [Sneering] 

What  wonderful  sophistry  !     Then  according  to  you 

I  might  as  well  have  remained  a  Christian. 

HAL  [Cheerfully] 

Precisely.  But  on  second  thoughts  I  don't  regret  my 
millions.  You  have  shown  that  Christianity  can't  be 
improved  on — the  lesson  was  cheap  at  the  price. 
Good-bye.  [Clasps  Stephen's  band,'] 

STEPHEN  [Detaining  his  hand] 
No — I  can't  let  you  go,  saying  that. 

WILFRED  [Opening  the  temple  door] 
The  Psalm  is  over,  father. 

STEPHEN  [Impatiently] 

Just  a  moment,  [wilfred  disappears,  the  door  closes.] 
With  the  same  Satanic  sophistry  that  in  your  Oxford 
days  sapped  my  old  belief,  you  now  try  to  show  that 
I  have  nothing  new  to  teach.  You  forget  that  I  have 
thrown  overboard  the  Christian  demand  for  personal 
immortality  and  taught  mankind  to  meet  life  with 
love  and  death  with  dignity. 

HAL 

To  do  good  without  hope  of  reward  makes  you  even 

more  Christian  than  the  Christians. 
169 


STEPHEN 

More  quibbling !     To  give  up  a  heaven  is  to  give  up 

Christianity. 

HAL 

How  about  "The  Kingdom  of  God  is  within  you"  ? 
That  doesn't  say  much  about  2l  future  heaven. 

STEPHEN 

You  are  incorrigible ! 

HAL  {Going  to  the  street  door"] 

So  Helen  will  say  if  I  don't  turn  up  at  the  Church 
Bazaar.  Can  I  get  out  through  this  door  ?  I  don't 
want  to  disturb  the  congregation. 

STEPHEN 

You'll  have  to  unbolt  it,  I  think. 

HAL  [Shooting  back  the  bolt] 

Thank  you.  [Turns  back  the  key.] 

STEPHEN 

But  surely  you  ought  to  stay  for  my  sermon.     It's  a 

tribute  to  your  father. 

HAL 

To  my  father  ? 

STEPHEN 

A  memorial  sermon — could  I  do  less  on  this  Day  of 

170 


Dedication  ?   And  Wilfred  has  written  a  Requiem — but 
of  jubilation  :   "  Rejoice,  the  righteous  cannot  die." 

HAL  [Slightly  opening  the  street  door'] 

You  and  Wilfred  owe  a  tribute  to  my  father.     But 

what  do  /  owe  him  ? 

STEPHEN  [Sternly] 
Christian  charity  ! 

HAL  [Closing  the  street  door] 

I  am  rebuked. 

[He  goes  back  silently  to  door  r.,  opens  it,  and 
returns  to  the  temple.  As  the  Temple  door  swings 
to,  the  street-door  l.  is  thrown  open  from  without, 
and  ELI  oakshott's  frenzied  fig^ire  appears  with 
his  hammer ;  he  is  older  and  greyer  and  fiercer, 
and  without  his  apron,  but  essentially  unchanged. 
He  slams  the  door  behind  him.] 

STEPHEN  [Wheeling  at  the  sou?td] 
Who's  there  ? 

OAKSHOTT 

The  Lord  has  delivered  you  into  my  hands  !  [He 
raises  his  hammer]  .  .  .  Why  don't  you  flinch,  curse 
you  ?  .  .  .  Ah,  you  are  blind  !  I  can't  strike  a 
man  who  is  blind.  [Lowers  hammer.] 

STEPHEN 

Why  should  you  strike  any  man  ? 
171 


OAKSHOTT 

Tou  ask  me  that  !     You  Judas,  who  have  built  this 
Temple  of  antichrist. 

STEPHEN 

Ha  !     You  are  Eli  Oakshott. 

OAKSHOTT 

Yes,  curse  you. 

STEPHEN 

I  thought  I  knew  the  voice. 

OAKSHOTT 

I've  waited  here  for  hours  to  bash  your  brains  out, 
and  now  the  Lord  has  paralysed  my  hand. 

STEPHEN 

Then  down  on  your  knees  and  thank  Him. 

OAKSHOTT 

Yes,  when  that  serpent  Burr  has  Hcked  the  dust. 

STEPHEN 

Go  home  ;    go  back  to  Dymthorpe.     Farmer  Burr  is 

not  here. 

OAKSHOTT 

Farmer  Burr  be  here.     He  goaded  me  to  come.     And 

every  spark  that  flew  up  from  my  anvil  cried  out  :   Go 

up — go  up,  for  this  is  the  day  of  the  Lord  God  of 

Hosts,  a  day  of  vengeance. 

172 


WILFRED  [Looking  in] 
Father,  you  must  come — 


OAKSHOTT 

A-a-ah  !     The  son  of  Belial ! 

[With  a  great  raucous  cry  he  raises  his  hammer  and 
darts  at  the  astonished  wilfred,  €^/6o  flees  hack  hut 
\cannot  close  the  door  before  the  blacksmith  is  through. 
As  it  closes  on  the  couple,  Wilfred's  voice  rings 
out  in  a  scream  of  alarm.] 

WILFRED  [Outside] 

Mother  ! 

[^here  is  a  responsive  shriek  in  mart's  voice, 
the  thud  of  a  falling  body,  a  great  panic-stricken 
hubbub.] 

STEPHEN 

Mary  !     Who  is  hurt  ?     Wilfred  !     Mary  ! 

[He  hurries  towards  the  door,  but  in  his  distraction 
strikes  against  an  obstacle  and  remains  groping.] 

VOICES  [Shouting^  outside] 
Hold  him  !     Tie  his  arms  1 

HAL  [Shouting  outside] 

No  violence  !     Take  him  out  to  a  constable. 

[The  hubbub  and  the  sound  of  the  struggle  go  on  for 
a  few  moments,  then  the  door  half  opens  ^ 

HAL  [At  door] 

Make  room,  please  ;  carry  him  in  here, 

173 


MARY  [Outside,  in  a  tragic  but  firm  voice] 
Wait,  let  me  cover  his  face. 

\A  -pause  ;   then  the  sound  of  another  fall.] 

HAL  [At  door] 

She  has  fainted.     Carry  her  to  a  window.     Bring  him 

through  here  ! 

STEPHEN  [Groping] 

Wilfred  !     Where  is  Wilfred  ? 

[ANDREWS  and  BURR,  Weeping,  carry  in  the  body  of 
WILFRED,  a  black  mantilla  thrown  over  the  face. 
A  noise  of  voices  and  of  weeping  comes  from  the 
congregation  ;   the  door  closes,  shutting  it  out.] 

HAL 

Set  him  down  here. 

[They  lay  the  body  in  the  centre  of  the  floor.] 

STEPHEN 

Hal !     Hal !     What  is  happening  ? 

HAL 

Your  wife  has  fainted. 

STEPHEN 
She's  not  hurt  ? 

HAL 

No.     She  was  very  brave. 

STEPHEN 
Put  Wilfred  ? 
174 


HAL 

M7  poor  Stephen  !     [He  takes  his  hand-l     Your  boy  is 
sorely  stricken. 

STEPHEN  [Hoarsely'] 
Not  dead  ? 

HAL 

His  skull  is  fractured  ;  he  is  unconscious. 

STEPHEN  [Frantically] 
But  not  dead  ? 

HAL 

I  will  feel  his  pulse  again.     [Kneels  hy  body  ;  a  pause.] 

STEPHEN  [Frenziedly] 
Not  dead  ? 

HAL  [Rising] 

God  give  you  strength  ! 

STEPHEN 

Wilfred  !     Where  are  you  ?     Take  me  to  him  ! 

[Gropes.] 
ANDREWS 
Oh,  Master  !  [Guides  him.] 

HAL 

He  died  instantaneously  ;   that's  a  mercy. 

STEPHEN  [Falling  sobbing  on  body] 

Oh,  my  son,  my  son  !  [Feels  mantilla^  but  does  not  lift  it.'\ 
17s 


HAL 

I  must  see  to  your  wife,  and  then  I  must  notify  the 
death.     Christ  comfort  you,  Stephen. 

[Exit  to  Temple.] 
BURR  [Sobbing] 

Eli  will  be  hanged,  but  the  crime  was  mine  in  a  manner 
of  speaking.     I  wish  I  could  die  instead  of  him. 

ANDREWS  [Checking  his  own  sobs] 

Tears  are  useless  now.  Burr.     Throw  open  the  great 

doors ;   let  the  congregation  go  ! 

STEPHEN 

No !  [Rises  in  majestic  stoicism.]  The  service  must 
go  on — as  the  world  must  go  on.  Let  the  youths 
make  the  choir-circuits  for  the  dead.  Andrews — you 
know  where  the  candles  are.  Otherwise  change 
nothing.  The  Requiem  to  begin  when  I  enter  [His 
voice  breaks.] — it  will  be  his  own  Requiem  now. 
\F irmly  again.]     Then  I  shall  preach. 

ANDREWS 

As  you  will,  Master.  [Exit  to  Temple.] 

[burr,  weeping  more  restrainedly,  takes  the  per- 
petually burning  taper y  and  lights  up  all  the  candles 
in  the  great  golden  ca?idlesticks.] 

STEPHEN  [Half  collapsing  again] 

If  I  had  only  listened  to  Mary,  and  not  let  Hal  come ! 

[Unconsciously    his   hands   pull   the   congratulatory 
cables  from   the   pocket   of  his   robe,   and   crumple 
them.     BURR,  the  taper  still  in  his  hand,  goes  to  the 
176 


door  and  of  ens  it  for  the  procession  and  Stephen 
draws  himself  up  rigidly,  but  his  hands  continue 
to  crumple  the  cables  into  a  smaller  and  smaller 
hall.  The  youths  in  their  golden  mantles  re-enter, 
each  carrying  a  tall  lighted  candle.  The  door 
remains  open  so  that  the  noise  of  outside  wailing  is 
heard  as  a  ground  bass  for  the  chant.  They  circle 
slowly  once  round  the  body  and  back  to  the  Temple?^ 

ANDREWS  lAs  he  enters] 

i^an  tljat  is  torn  of  a  looman  f)at$  tut  a  si^ort  time  to  Ube 

anti  is  full  of  miscrg. 

YOUTHS 

^t  cometf)  up  mti  is  cut  tioton  like  a  flotoer.     ^t  Utttf^  as 

it  b3c«  a  statioto,  anti  nebcr  continuetf)  in  one  stag. 

ANDREWS 

?Sut  Cl)ou,  (B  (Stetnal,  toert,  fiefore  tte  mountains  toere 

irougfjt  fort}). 

YOUTHS 

<©r  eber  tt)e  eartf)  an^  tiie  toorlti  toere  mate* 

ANDREWS 

dTor  a  tJjousant  gears  in  Cfig  sigfit  are  iut  as  sestertiag : 

YOUTHS 

Seeing  tfjat  is  past  as  a  toatc^  in  t^e  nigfit. 

177  u 


ANDREWS 

i?ct  in  tlje  fiiifffst  life  of  man  map  fie  itbine  flreatness  an^ 

glorg. 

YOUTHS 

antj  in  sijort  mrasiires  life  mag  perfect  fie. 

[T/6^  procession  has  now  arrived  at  door  r.] 

ANDREWS  {Leading  it  hack  into  the  Temple] 

JHan  tljat  is  torn  of  a  Uioman— 

[The  litany  is  repeated  till  the  door  closes  on  them 
with  BURR  bringi^ig  up  the  rear  ;  the  sounds  from 
without  sink  to  an  inarticulate  chanting  on  a  ground 
bass  of  sobbing  which  goes  like  a  musical  accompani- 
ment through  the  scene^  only  rising  to  articulate- 
ness  as  the  procession  in  its  ambit  passes  near  the 
door.] 

STEPHEN  [Relaxing  his  rigidity  as  the  door  closes] 
Oh,  why  was  I  not  stricken  down  instead  ! 

[His  head  sinks  on  his  breast,  he  is  shaken  with 
sobs.  After  a  moment  or  two  the  Temple  door 
slightly  reopens.] 

HAL  [Outside] 

No,  no,  Mrs.  Trame,  don't  go  in. 

MARY 

I  am  better,  I  tell  you.     Let  go  the  handle.     I  must 

go  in. 

178 


HAL  [Pulling  the  door  to] 
You  will  only  faint  again. 

[Key  heard  turning  outside.'] 

MARY  [Shrieking  outside] 

How  dare  you  keep  me  from  him  ? 

STEPHEN  [Murmurs] 

God  help  her  !       [Moves  half-consciously  towards  door.] 

[A  weird  silence.    Then  three  great  bangs  at  the  door 

witJ^  a  fist.] 

MARY  [Without] 
Wilfy  !     Let  me  in  ! 

STEPHEN  [Near  door,  loudly] 

She  must  come  to  her  dead  ! 

[The  door  opens  a?id  closes  again,  mary  with  the 
tearless  look  of  a  somnambulist  comes  through  and 
seeing  her  husband''s  agonised  Jace  goes  straight  to 
him.] 

MARY 

Oh,  Stephen  !     My  poor  Stephen. 

[Embraces  him,  -pressing  her  face  to  his. 

STEPHEN 

Don't  think  of  me  I 

MARY 

All  your  pride  and  happiness  gone,  all  the  glory  of  the 

day  destroyed. 
179 


STEPHEN 

Your  face  is  dry  and  burning — cry,  Mary,  cry  your 

heart  out  on  mine. 

MARY 

He  called  out  "  Mother  "  when  the  blow  fell.  Didn't 
you  hear  it  ?  Just  like  when  he  was  a  little  boy  and 
something  frightened  him.  That  was  his  last  word — 
"  Mother  !  " 

STEPHEN 

Yes,  yes ;   I  heard. 

MARY 

I've  put  my  mantilla  over  his  face,  do  you  see  ?  I 
used  to  put  it  over  his  cradle  at  Dymthorpe  to  keep 
off  the  mosquitoes.  When  you  bought  it  on  our 
honeymoon,  you  never  thought  of  the  use  it  would 
be  put  to — as  a  mosquito  curtain,  did  you  ? 

[Smiling  wa7ily.'\ 

ANDREWS  \^As  the  procession  is  passing  outside] 
Mm  t^at  is  fiorn  of  a  tooman  f)at]^  but  a  sfjott  time  to  libf 
anij  133  full  of  misctg. 

MARY  \Her  smile  dying] 
What  is  he  saying  ? 

YOUTHS 

?l?c  cometf)  up  anti  is  rut  tioton  lifee  a  flotoer.    |^e  fitttff  .  .  . 

[The  chant  dies  inarticulately  away.] 


MARY  [Tragically,  and  as  though  struggling  to  awake] 
Cut  down  ?     Who  else  is  cut  down  ? 

STEPHEN 

Nobody  else,  dear.  They  are  going  round  the  choir. 
Didn't  you  see  them  ? 

MARY 

I  saw  nothing  but  a  closed  door.  What  are  they  going 
round  for  ? 

STEPHEN 

It  is  one  of  our  ceremonies.     The  death-circuit. 

MARY  [As  if  awaking] 

For  Wilfred  ?  And  they  will  hury  him  ?  [^creams 
terribly]  A-h-h-h  !  Wilfy  is  dead  !  My  little  son  is 
dead  !     They  will  take  him  from  me  ! 

STEPHEN 

No,  no  !  [flakes  her  hands.]  They  will  not  bury  him 
yet.  [She  frees  her  hands.]  Yes,  go  to  him  ;  you  can 
still  hold  him  in  your  arms. 

MARY  [Kneeling  beside  the  body] 

Wilfy  ! 

[She  takes  the  passive  hand,  then  drops  it  with  a 

shudder  as  of  mortal  cold.     Her  hand  hovers  over 

the  mantilla,  but  unable  to  bear  to  unveil  the  face, 

she  draws  her  hand  back  and  covers  her  own  face 

instead.     Then  she  rises  resolutely  and  walks  to  the 

table.] 
i8i 


STEPHEN 

Where  are  you  going  ? 

MARY 

God  has  not  given  me  your  merciful  blindness. 

[She  gathers  up  palms  and  lilies."] 
STEPHEN 
What  is  that  rustling  ? 

MARY 

I  am  covering  him  up  with  palms  and  lilies. 

[Lays  them  on  the  body.'\ 
STEPHEN 
I  understand.     You  wish  to  keep  the  face  you  knew. 

MARY 

Yes ;   all  his  faces  but  this. 

STEPHEN 

^11  his  faces  ? 

MARY 

You  do  not  know  them  ?  [Arranges  pahns  and  lilies 
as  she  speaks  in  happy  dreamy  retrospection.']  First, 
the  teeny  tiny  face  with  shut  eyes,  and  hair  like  a  faint 
golden  dust ;  then  the  merry-eyed  little  mite  of  a  face 
with  curls ;  then  the  sweet  serious  face  of  the  little 
musician  up  in  the  church-loft,  playing  the  organ  ; 
then  the  schoolboy  face,  roguish  and  studious  by 
turns,  then — but  they  float  and  mingle  before  me, 
dear  kissable  uncountable  faces,  and  how  could  I 
ever  choose  among  them  all,  which  to  have  in  heaven  ? 
182 


But  God  has  chosen  for  me — Wilfy's  immortal  shape 
will  be  that  of  an  eager  and  beautiful  youth,  with 
a  golden  halo  round  his  head,  ever  making  holy 
music. 

STEPHEN 

Yes  ;  that  is  the  shape  in  which  our  beloved  will 
always  live  before  this  congregation.  And  now,  dear, 
that  you  are  calm,  I  will  go  to  my  pulpit  and  preach 
of  the  True  Immortality.     Come  ! 

[Draws  her  hand."] 
MARY  {Again  awaking^  fiercely] 
Leave  me  with  my  dead  ! 

STEPHEN 

Your  dead  is  not  here,  dear ;  but  as  you  have  just  said, 
in  your  heart  and  soul.  Come  !  I  was  to  speak  of  our 
Founder's  immortality ;  now  I  must  speak  even  more 
of  Wilfred's. 

MARY  [Eagerly'] 

And  you  will  tell  them  he  lives  with  God  ? 

STEPHEN 

With  the  God  in  us.  The  blood  of  the  martyrs  is 
the  seed  of  the  Church,  and  our  dear  son's  death  will 
be  transmuted  to  a  higher  form  of  life  in  the  gene- 
rations that  his  memory  will  inspire  and  his  music 
uplift. 

MARY  [As  if  dazed] 

In  the  generations  ? 
183    y 


STEPHEN 

Yes,  I  planned  that  he  should  succeed  me.  Fate  has 
planned  for  him  a  truer  apostolate.  Sometimes,  do 
you  know,  dear,  the  fear  crossed  my  mind  that  I  was 
unduly  preferring  Wilfred  to  Andrews,  even  preparing 
that  worst  of  evils,  an  hereditary  priesthood.  Fate 
has  set  the  balance  just. 

MARY 

And  you  can  think  of  such  things ! 

STEPHEN 

Now  is  the  moment  for  thinking  of  them. 

MARY  [Screaming] 
When  Wilfy  lies  dead  ! 

ANDREWS  [Passing  outside] 

dTor  a  tljousantj  ccars  m  Cl)g  sig^t  are  fiut  as  pestertraj?. 

YOUTHS  [Outside] 

Sfeiitfl  tljat  is  past  as  a  loatrf)  in  tfje  mt^^^X, 

[Their  voices  grow  inarticulate  again.] 

MARY 

Don't  you  hear  them  ?  Wilfy  is  dead,  I  tell  you. 
And  you  can  still  talk  words  J 

STEPHEN 

But  he  is  not  dead,  Mary,  he  will  live  in  his  music 

and  his 

1.84 


MARY 

Stop  your  words !  Can  I  embrace  his  music,  and 
feel  its  heart  beating  against  mine  ?  Will  it  give  me 
kiss  for  kiss  and  pet  word  for  pet  word  \ 

STEPHEN 

Death   takes   much :     let   us   be   thankful  it   cannot 

take  all. 

MARY 

Thankful !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Thankful  because 
it  takes  our  beautiful  boy  and  gives  us  a  log  1 

STEPHEN 

We  had  the  joy  of  his  rearing. 

MARY 

And  the  pain.  How  many  nights  have  I  sat  at  his 
bedside,  sick  with  fear  !  And  now,  after  eighteen 
years  of  anxious  growth,  you  tell  me  that  all  the  glow 
and  genius  of  his  young  soul,  all  the  love  in  his  gentle 
eyes,  have  faded  to — this ! 

STEPHEN 

What  else  can  we  conceive  ?     That  he  will  live  on  in 

a  heaven,  eternally  eighteen  ? 

MARY 

And  why  not  ?  There  must  be  people  of  all  ages  in 
heaven.  [Her  face  shines  with  a  new  hofe.^  Yes,  that 
is  why  children  die — I  never  understood  it  before — that 
heaven  may  not  lack  little  ones  and  so  be  less  heaven ; 
i8s 


that  there  shall  be  croonings  and  Growings  and  the 
smiles  of  babies  in  all  that  ineffable  splendour. 

STEPHEN 

M7  poor  Mary  !  Then  your  heaven  is  mere  earth 
over  again,  and  all  the  people  who  have  once  blundered 
into  being  are  to  be  for  ever.  Eli  Oakshott  for  example. 
Insanity  is  to  be  immortalised. 

MARY  [Passionately'] 

And  is  there  not  Time  enough  and  Space  enough  and 
Power  enough  to  set  all  these  blunders  straight  ? 
Aren't  you  always  talking  of  the  infinities  and  the 
eternities  ?  Are  there  not  stars  enough,  universes 
enough  ?  Or  do  you  think  I  cannot  wait  a  million 
years  and  journey  a  million  million  miles,  if  only 
it  was  to  hear  Wilfred  say  once  again — "  Mother  !  " 

STEPHEN 

Such  faith  should  move  mountains.     But  alas  !  only 

earthquake  moves  them. 

ANDREWS  [Passing  outside] 

ISut  tfjou,  (H^  iJBtfinal,  U)f rt,  fif foif  tfje  mounfams  toere  firouni^t 

fortf). 

YOUTHS  [Outside] 

<B)t  fbft  tije  earti)  anti  tfje  toovlti  toeve  matie. 

[The  voices  die  away.] 
MARY  [Mystically] 

Before  the  mountains  !     Did  you  hear    that  ?     God 
from  everlasting  !     And  yet  you  say  this  is  the  end  of 
Wilfy — this  log  that  will  soon  be  loathsome  ! 
186 


STEPHEN 

You  came  to  me  just  now,  so  confessing  your  belief — 

our  belief. 

MARY 

Yes,  before  I  knew  what  I  was  believing.     As  little  as 

Wilfy  knew. 

STEPHEN 

You  knew  better  in  your  sober  reason  than  now  in 

your  distraction. 

MARY  [Fiercely'] 

No !     Reason   is    only   words.     Can   one   know   love 

without  loving  ?     No  more  can  one  know  loss  without 

losing. 

STEPHEN 

1  too  have  lost  Wilfred. 

MARY 

And  you  are  afraid  of  losing  your  miserable  religion 
too  !  That  is  why  you  won't  let  your  heart  speak.  I 
took  your  words  for  realities — now  I  see  they  are 
shadows.     Now  I  know  the  truth. 

STEPHEN 

What  truth  do  you  know  ? 

MARY  [Ecstatically'] 

That  Wilfred  lives ! 
187 


STEPHEN 

How  can  you  know  it  more  than  I  ? 

MARY 

I  know  it  here — in  my  heart — beneath  which  I 
carried  him  before  you  ever  saw  him.  Do  you  think 
that  that  leaves  no  knowledge  ?  Do  you  think  you 
can  be  as  wise  as  I  ? 

STEPHEN 

If  it  comforts  you,  dear,  to  believe  it,  believe  it. 
But  I [Goes  towards  Temple  door.'] 

MARY  [Hysterical  again] 

You  are  going  to  preach  that  my  belief  is  a  lie  ! 

STEPHEN 

I  cannot  cover  up  the  truth  with  palms  and  lilies. 

MARY 

That's  just  what  you  do  ;  cover  up  your  truth  with 
flowers  of  speech.  We  can't  drug  ourselves,  you  said 
to  me  that  dreadful  day  at  Dymthorpe,  we  can't 
drug  ourselves  with  dreams  and  myths.  But  what  are 
all  your  fine  words  but  drugs  to  drowse  people  to  the 
dreadful  thing  you  preach  ! 

STEPHEN 

I  preach  no  drugs,  I  preach  inspiring   realities.     My 

people  are  thinkers. 
i88 


MARY 

What  inspiring  realities  do  you  preach  ? 

STEPHEN 

I  told  you  just  now.     That  by  our  own  labour  we  may 

shape  this  revolving  wilderness  to  a  world  of  peace  and 

perfection. 

MARY  [Frenziedly'] 

Yes ;  and  the  hammer  will  always  hit  the  anvil !     My 

curse  on  that  law  ! 

STEPHEN 

Hush  !     You  said  you  understood. 

MARY  [Bursting  into  sohs] 

I  don't  want  your  world  of  peace  and  perfection,  I 

want  my  Wilfy. 

STEPHEN 

You  must  not  talk  so  selfishly,  dear.     You  are  only 

one. 

MARY  {Gulping  down  her  5ohs\ 

And  is  anybody  else  more  ?  What  is  the  world  but 
a  collection  of  ones  ?  And  if  each  one  is  doomed  like 
me  to  lose  his  best  and  dearest,  where  is  your  peace  and 
perfection  ? 

STEPHEN 

In  the  hearts  that  accept  the  law.     Wilfred  will  live 

on  in  his  music. 

189 


MARY  [Grimly] 

And  where  will  Wilfy's  music  live  ? 

STEPHEN 

In  our  congregation — in  all  of  us. 

MARY 

Who  will  all  die  like  Wilfy  ? 

STEPHEN 
Sooner  or  later. 

MARY 

All  of  us  turning  like  him  into  loathsome  logs  !  And 
our  successors  on  the  planet — logs  in  their  turn. 
And  so  on  and  so  on  till  this  revolving  graveyard  is 
shrivelled  up  by  a  wandering  star.  And  this  you  call 
an  inspiring  reality  !  Say  rather  a  dance  of  shadows — 
a  rope  of  wind — a  castle  of  cloud — a  chasing  of  night- 
mares— vanity  of  vanities.  [Fiercely.]  What  is  the 
meaning  of  it  all  ? 

STEPHEN 

It  is  the  great  procession  of  life. 

MARY  [Sobbing  again] 

The  great  procession  of  death. 

STEPHEN 

The  two  are  one.     Only  the  elemental  atom  lives  for 

ever.     The  price  of  true  life  is  death. 

190 


MARY 

Then  has  God  no  true  life  ? 

STEPHEN 

His  life,  too,  is  an  eternal  weaving  and  unweaving. 

MARY  [Frenziedly] 
But  it  is  eternal. 

STEPHEN 

We  are  creatures  of  an  hour.     We  cannot  share  His 

eternity. 

MARY 

And  who  would  love  a  God  who  did  not  share  His 
life  with  us  ?  A  God  who  creates  us  to  slay  us,  as 
pheasants  are  bred  to  be  shot. 

STEPHEN  [Looking  up  mystically] 

Though  He  slay  us,  yet  must  we  trust  in  Him. 

MARY 

Yes ;  to  raise  us  up  again  !  Do  you  think  I  could 
bear  to  see  even  that  log  go  from  me  if  I  thought  this 
was  the  end  ?  Do  you  think  I  could  bear  to  hear  the 
earth  dropping  on  the  coffin  and  not  go  mad  ?  Do 
you  think  I  would  not  run  out  into  the  streets  and  cry 
to  the  people :  "  Beware !  let  there  be  no  more 
marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage,  for  Death  stalks 
around  with  his  hammer,  waiting  to  fell  your  children 
like  bullocks  "  I  Stephen,  do  you  really  believe  that 
191 


if  you  or  I  die,  we  shall  meet  no  more  for  all  eternity 
and  be  nothing  but  decaying  dust  f 

STEPHEN 

Oh,  dearest,  that  is  why  we  must  cling  to  each  other 
now.  Don't  you  see  how  death  vitalises  every 
moment  ? 

MARY  [Shuddering] 

Paralyses  every  moment,  you  mean.  How  can  we  set 
our  love  on  shadows  ?  No  !  No  !  Why  do  you  trust 
so  to  appearances  ?  You  who  say  that  this  sohd- 
seeming  matter  is  only  a  whirl  of  wild  forces,  that  the 
very  rocks  are  alive  with  radium  !  Surely  in  all  these 
mysteries  that  encompass  us  there  is  room  for  hope, 
surely  we  may  open  one  little  window  to  the  sun. 

ANDREWS  [Passing  outside] 

i>ft  in  t\)t  MtU^t  Hit  of  man  mag  fie  tiibine  grcatncsg  anti 

filOCg, 

YOUTHS  [Outside] 

^nti  in  sijott  measures  life  mag  perfect  tie. 

STEPHEN 

Th    circuits  are  over. 

[He  moves  resolutely  towards  the  Temple  door.] 

MARY  [Frenziedly] 

And  you  are  going  to  kill  their  hope  !     No  !     No  ! 

They  have   children   too,  husbands,   wives,  brothers, 

192 


sisters !  You  shall  not !  [Throws  her  arms  rouni 
him.']     I  will  not  let  you. 

STEPHEN  [Freezmgly,  not  struggling] 
Mary  !     Remember,  I  am  blind. 

MARY  [Letting  him  go] 

Yes — blind  indeed  !     But  I  forbid  you  to  infect  others 

with  your  blindness. 

STEPHEN  [Coldly] 
You  forbid  me  ? 

MARY 

I  forbid  you  to  make  this  dark  world  darker.  Blow 
out  the  last  star  and  I  will  follow  you  into  the 
pulpit. 

STEPHEN 
You  ? 

MARY 

Yes,  I.     Let  them  hear  a  woman  for  once.      You  and 

your  dried-up   thinkers  !     I   tell  you   that   the  great 

live   world  will  never   take  your   religion,   and   that 

even  if  you  deluded  all  male  humanity,  the  mothers 

would  rise  up  and  tear  it  to  pieces,     [stephen  turns 

silently  and  resumes  his  walk  to  the  door.]     Go  into 

your  pulpit  then.     But — over  the  body  of  our  boy — 

I  dare  you  to  tell  them  he  is  dead. 

193  N 


STEPHEN  [Turning,  as  at  bay] 

And  will  you  dare  tell  them  he  is  alive  ? 

MARY  [In  trumpet  tones] 

I  will  tell  them  that  this  corruptible  shall  put  on 
incorruption  and  this  mortal  immortality,  and  I  will 
cry,  O  death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  O  grave,  where  is 
thy  victory  ? 

[STEPHEN,  his  head  bowed  as  beneath  the  storm, 
opens  the  door.  The  triumphant  Requiem  bursts 
out  from  organ  and  choir  :  "  Rejoice,  the  righteous 
cannot  die.^^] 

STEPHEN  [Raising  his  head] 

Wilfred's  music  !  [He  goes  in  -firmly.] 

MARY  [Snatching  up  a  great  lily,  and   uplifting   it, 

her  face  ecstatically   transfigured,  her  voice  dominant 

even  over  the  organ] 

The  Resurrection  and  the  Life  ! 

[She  stands  over  the  body  that  is  hidden  by  palms 
and  lilies.  The  music  swells  out  in  loftier  jubilation^ 
the  Curtain  slowly  falls .] 


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